


The Vigilante, The Reporter, and The Kingpin

by DDLover



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Karen Page, BAMF Karen Page, BAMF Marci Stahl, BAMF Matt Murdock, BAMF Wilson Fisk, Character Development, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Drama & Romance, Expanded Universe, F/M, FBI, Fisk's empire gets more fleshed out, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Journalism, Karen Page Knows Matt is Daredevil, Karen Page needs a hug, Lawyer Matt Murdock, Male-Female Friendship, Marci Stahl gets to do more than just be Foggy's girlfriend, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Matt actually gets to be a lawyer for once, Missing Scenes, New York City, Organized Crime, POV Karen Page, POV Marci Stahl, POV Matt Murdock, POV Wilson Fisk, Reporter Karen Page, Romance, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Smut, Vanessa Marianna Is No Angel, Vigilante and Newspaper Reporter, Women Being Awesome, adventures in journalism, as is appropriate for a guy with a summa cum laude degree, gap filling, giving some closure to the guys on Fisk's season 2 prison gang, nypd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 234,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDLover/pseuds/DDLover
Summary: Matt Murdock is back from the dead, and has just learned that his archnemesis Wilson Fisk is out of prison. Knowing he can't take Fisk on all by himself, he decides to team up with the one person he knows who is as dogged and determined as he is to put the man back in prison: Karen Page. As Matt and Karen rebuild the romance they once had, they must also fight a lengthy battle with a man who is determined to destroy their lives, their livelihoods, and their friendships.AKA: What if Matt had help when he was going after Fisk?





	1. An Old Foe is Out

**Author's Note:**

> For all I liked about season 3, I really didn't like that they had Matt be isolated from his loved ones and not really start working with them until almost halfway through the season. Not to mention, the character growth in Matt's relationships with Karen and Foggy kinda took a backseat to the plot, given the aforementioned isolation.
> 
> At first, this fic started as me wanting to ask the question of "what would season 3 have been like if Matt and Karen had a season-long romance arc in addition to their individual arcs," and how that would affect their investigations of Fisk, since in placing Karen at the Bulletin, they were clearly intending for her to be the new Ben Urich. But then as I watched season 3, there were some other plot details I noticed that I think could've been strengthened or trimmed, and some characters who deserved better.
> 
> This as a result turned into a story where Matt gets to do more things as a lawyer (across a combined 47 episodes of Daredevil and The Defenders, only four of them actually saw Matt in a courtroom, and the balance of lawyer Matt to vigilante Matt was really tipped in favor of the latter), where Matt and Karen balance out rebuilding their romance with bringing down Fisk, where Marci Stahl gets more to do (because let's face it, she's got stakes and deserves more than be just a supporting character for Foggy's story), and Fisk's criminal empire gets vastly expanded upon (including resolving a few plot threads from season 2).
> 
> As the title suggests, most of the story takes place from the POVs of Matt, Karen, and Fisk, though I will do multiple bits from the perspectives of other characters like Dex, Foggy, Marci, and Nadeem, just so we know how Fisk's people are reacting to this irritating blind lawyer and his reporter girlfriend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In different parts of the city, Matt and Karen end up learning that Wilson Fisk, the man they put away several years ago at Nelson & Murdock, has been unexpectedly released from prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For timeline references, Matt's intro is at the last scene of episode 2, "Please", when he's at the hospital as FBI agents from the Albanians' ambush are being admitted. Karen's intro is the scene in episode 3, "No Good Deed," where she's having dinner with Ellison's family.
> 
> The first two episodes have happened almost entirely the same up until this point.

**``Monday, February 5th:**

**Riverbank Medical Center**

_"Thank God for you."_

_"He didn't help you. I did."_

Matt felt satisfaction and gratitude in the words Neda Kazemi had said to him. Her father was expected to pull through, and their would-be attackers were in lockup. Justice would be served. It was just like the old days of his vigilante career. He also couldn't help but smell Karen's perfume lingering in the room, realizing she must have come by just a few hours ago, covering the attack in her capacity as an up and coming star reporter at the _New York Bulletin_. Perhaps, Matt thought, he'd be lucky to run into Karen soon if he followed this case through to the end. The smell of her perfume made him miss her even more, despite his best efforts to remind himself that he was letting her and Foggy think he was dead.

That moment of euphoria at realizing Karen had been by the hospital quickly faded though as soon as he exited Riverbank Medical Center’s sliding entrance doors. His senses paused as all ambient sounds were drowned out by a cacophony of incoming sirens. A whole convoy of emergency vehicles was inbound to the hospital. They were just a block or so out. And he could sense a large triage team of doctors racing out from the operating room with gurneys and stretchers. Something big had happened. Could’ve been a fire. Could’ve been a building collapse. Could’ve been a bus accident. Maybe there had been another derailed train in the subway. Whatever it was, it was not good.

Seconds later, four ambulances, under the escort of numerous police vehicles, screeched to a halt in front of the emergency room entrance where Matt was standing.  He stood there and strained his neck, trying to filter out the various voices to find out what was going on. It seemed like they were FBI agents, from the chatter he picked up. And they’d been the subject of a deadly ambush. Multiple dead, others badly wounded.

“Multiple GSWs.”

“First one up!”

"We're losing him! We're losing him!"

“Goddamn Albanians! They killed everyone except Fisk!”

Matt froze. Wilson Fisk?! Out of prison?! He was supposed to be locked up in Riker’s, serving life for all his crimes! He was out already? _Oh, god, please tell me this isn't real._

"What's Fisk's status?"

“Somebody said he's en route to the safehouse. Dex and Nadeem have him!”

It was what he heard a police officer on her iPhone a few feet away from him that chilled his blood to the bone.

“It's a damn shitshow here, Renzulli! The FBI just let Wilson Fisk out of prison!”

From behind his glasses, Matt fought back a lump of bile forming in his throat and felt like he was about to faint. Wilson Fisk was out of prison. He'd just gotten his hearing back 100% and the world's way of thanking him was to release the crimelord that he, Karen and Foggy had dedicated their first few months as Nelson & Murdock to putting away. He gripped his cane tightly and felt his heartrate speeding up. He heard Fisk’s voice echoing in his head, recounting the threats Fisk had made when Matt had visited him in prison after Frank Castle had escaped. It seemed like that had been ages ago.

_“When I finally get out of this cage, I will dismantle the lives of the two amateurs THAT PUT ME IN HERE!! You, Mr. Murdock, and Franklin Percy Nelson!”_

Matt grimaced. _Goddamnit_. Fisk had promised that he’d go after everyone Matt cared about when he got out. Karen. Foggy. Claire. Possibly Father Lantom and Sister Maggie too if he ever learned about them.

As the FBI agents, police officers, and emergency room doctors ferried the wounded in to the operating room, Matt filtered through his options. If Fisk got himself out of prison, surely there was a way to put him back in there. It was just a matter of how he could do that. But more importantly, he was afraid. If Fisk made good on that promise of his to destroy Karen and Foggy, and he almost certainly would, he couldn’t live with himself.

_“You, Mr. Murdock, and Franklin Percy Nelson!”_

It hit Matt, then. Fisk only mentioned Foggy’s name when he was choking Matt over the table. He'd said nothing about Karen. That could mean anything. Maybe he did know Karen but just didn’t mention her out of convenience. Maybe he didn’t know yet about Karen’s other investigations. Maybe he didn’t say her name because he’d long since forgotten her, given how much had passed since she’d exposed his racketeering at Union Allied. Next to him, Karen was always getting into trouble and diving headfirst into dangerous situations the first time around. She had also been the staunchiest supporter for Daredevil, always convinced that he was the good guy no matter how hard Fisk tried to smear his good name with the bombings and the death of Detective Blake. She fought hard to get justice for everyone hurt by Fisk. He'd seen it in how much energy she put into Union Allied, helping Elena Cardenas in their dispute with Armund Tully, hunting down Fisk's mother. She was brilliant. Yeah, maybe Karen was his best shot he had at getting to take Fisk down head-on.

From what Matt could hear, Fisk was apparently in the protective custody of the FBI, so he probably still didn't have 100% the influence he had before his arrest. But it would mean that there would be no fistfights with him in dark alleyways or warehouses. At least for now, this would be a fight that would take the form of newspaper headlines and espionage, the sort of stuff that Karen was better suited for. In that moment, as he listened to the wounded FBI agents being rushed into surgery, he made a decision: he would go seek out Karen and ask her for her help. Whether or not she'd agree to work with him, he'd deal with that when he found her. But given her new circle of colleagues, and her current job, word ought to be reaching her about Fisk's situation within the hour. And he knew that when she got her teeth on something, she could be very hard to let go. She wouldn't stop until Fisk was back in prison any more than he would.

He decided he’d head back to his apartment and wait for her there. He didn't know if she'd be at her office at the _Bulletin_ or at her apartment, or out covering a story, and he didn't have a phone on him with which he could call her up. So he'd have to go back to his apartment anyways. And he hadn't had his burner phone with him when he had gone to Midland Circle, so trying to contact her on that was out of the question. Without a further ado, Matt quickly walked away from the emergency room entrance and sauntered towards the street, prepared to find his way back to his apartment.

* * *

**Brighton Beach**

When Mitchell Ellison had invited Karen Page to have dinner that Monday night with his wife Lillian and nephew Jason, she was beyond ecstatic. Most of the  _Bulletin_ reporters never got the privilege to meet Ellison’s family, except for the special ones. Usually the ones who won awards, or the ones who wrote groundbreaking stories calling attention to issues that the other papers dismissed. From what Ellison had told her, Ben Urich had been one of those special ones. The fact that she of all people got invited down to the Ellison family house in Brighton Beach must’ve meant he thought she was the next Bob Woodward, that she was on the verge of capturing a Pulitzer. For dinner, Mitchell was cooking his signature home-cooked tofu.

Karen couldn’t help but admit as she dug in that the tofu tasted very good. She’d mostly subsisted these last three very eventful months since Midland Circle on a diet of mostly takeout food and health drinks from the various places within a few blocks of her apartment. That was a small price to pay in readjusting her monthly budget to include Matt's rent, at least, until the day she'd decided to just cut her losses and move into Matt's apartment completely.

"You seem like someone who hasn't had a home-cooked meal in ages," Lily commented.

“I don't know, it's been uh, three months since I had one,” Karen said.

“See, now, that's bad,” Jason said from across the table.

“Yeah,” she smiled wistfully.

“Yeah, it's been about a month for me,” Jason said, “I've been elbows deep in, uh, research, but it feels like 100 years since I had a home-cooked meal.”

“Well, this is all Uncle Mitchell-“ Lily stepped in.

“Please, stop.” Mitchell smiled in embarrassment.

“Left to my own devices, we'd be ordering Wo Hop every night,” Lily laughed.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Karen said, taking a sip from her wine. She couldn’t help but think, more than ever, about the days when she worked with Matt and Foggy in Nelson & Murdock, eating Thai food as they burned the midnight oil doing case work. Ever since Neda Kazemi had told her at the hospital that morning that she and her father were saved by a man whose description fit the attire Matt had worn way back when they were investigating Fisk, she'd been given hope that Matt was alive and well. She made a mental note that tomorrow, she was going to hunt down that mystery man in black with everything she had until she knew for certain that it was Matt.

“This woman does it all,” Mitchell said, singing praises of his wife, “Not only does she run _Proxy_ Magazine, she is an expert orderer.”

“Stop it.”

“No-no-no-no, it's true. You're amazing! It's like a skill. Right? You know all the best dishes on every menu. You always order the right amount.  Never too much, too little. It's perfect.”

“He'd be lost without me,” Lily turned to Karen. _Still not as impressive a skill as say, being a blind man who is also a trained martial artist_ , Karen thought wistfully.

“I would,” Mitchell said.

“Disgusting,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Are they always like this?” Karen asked him.

“When I was eight,” he said, “they renewed their vows on Long Beach - in front of the whole family.”

Karen gasped in mock horror. “No…”

“Aunt Lily hired one of those planes that write in the sky.”

“Oh, my God. Did you really?” Karen turned to Mitchell.

“I did.” Lily nodded, sounding very much proud of what she’d done.

“So, how did you two meet?” Karen gestured between Mitchell and Lily.

“Kind of like you guys, actually,” Lily said, “We were set up by our college newspaper editor.”

Karen felt her heart skip a beat. So _that_ was what this was all about? Mitchell invited her over because he was trying to set her up with his nephew. She looked at her boss, crestfallen. _You’re trying to hook me up?! Seriously?!_

“Oh, Mitchell, did you not tell them?” Lily asked, noticing the change in Karen’s demeanor. _She’s in on this as well…_

“Uncle Mitchell-“ Jason started to speak.

“I am so sorry. I had no idea,” Karen stammered.

“I had no idea I was…I had nothing to do with it,” Jason replied, tongue-tied as well.

An awkward silence fell around the dinner table. Clearly this wasn’t going the way Mitchell thought.

“You know what?” Karen spoke up, to break the silence, “Uh, we need--we need more wine.”

Karen stood up and dismissed herself to the kitchen. Ellison followed her. Once she was certain they were out of earshot, she turned to him with her most accusatory look.

“Really?” Karen asked. _Can't you see I'm not interested in anyone whose name isn't Matt Murdock?_

“I get it,” Ellison said, raising his hands in defeat. “I'm sorry. You know I knew that if I had actually asked you, you'd have said no.”

“Yes, right," Karen agreed, "See, that's the part where it gets to be _my_ choice. Because I know you meant well, but this?” she motioned back towards the dining room.

“You could use some happy,” he said to her.

“I am happy,” Karen protested. _Well, I’d be truly happy if Matt were still around. I’m happy I have this job and I love what I'm doing here._ If Karen were being honest with herself, the last time she ever felt completely happy was that day Matt took her to that curry place on the Lower East Side for their date. _Our only date,_ she thought sadly. Since she couldn’t tell her boss the truth about Matt, or why exactly she was so obsessed with everything related to Midland Circle, without compromising Matt's big secret, she settled for a small lie. “Look, I'm not, um I'm not ready.” _I'm not ready to move on to another boyfriend._

“All right,” Ellison said in his most fatherly voice, “Well, if you want to leave, I'll understand.” He headed back towards the dining room. "I'm sure _Jason_ will, too,” he added as he passed her, with that undertone of _You’re staying here if you want to keep your job._

Karen conceded. _I may be hung up about Matt, but I might as well stay and be a good house guest for my editor. He has the power to fire me and this would look embarrassing on my resume._ She took a deep breath and rejoined the Ellisons at the table.

* * *

 Several glasses of wine later, Karen was pretty tipsy, and laughing at Jason's jokes.

“...So, wait, you're telling me that you named your cat Ralph?” she asked Jason.

“Ellison,” Jason added.

“Oh!” Karen laughed, getting the pun.

“Hey! I have a PhD in American Literature,” Jason said, “He's my favorite author. ‘Life is to be lived, not controlled. Humanity is won by-’"

“I know this one, actually,” she interrupted, "’Humanity is won by continuing to play in the face of certain defeat.’ Is that right?”

“How do you know the quote?” he asked, amazed.

“I was going to be an English major. _Invisible Man_ would have been a big part of my curriculum, but that was another lifetime,” she said.

“Well you made out okay,” Jason pointed out.

“A revered journalist with an acclaimed publication,” Mitchell chimed in, beaming.

“Okay,” Karen smiled shyly. _Considering that when I retire, people will probably best remember me as the girl who exposed Wilson Fisk, got saved by Daredevil twice, and later got held hostage by a suicidal ex-Army bomber and got saved by Frank Castle. I'm probably a walking Lois Lane right now.  
_

“Too much, honey,” Lily said.

“So, tell me,” Karen regained the podium, “Do you ever worry little Ralph's plotting your demise?”

“I take it you're a dog person,” he commented, gesturing at her with his fork.

“Absolutely,” she nodded. She always wished she’d owned a dog. Back when she was a kid in Fagan Corners, her family had a black Labrador named McFly, after the main character of  _Back to the Future_ , but whom she nicknamed "Death’s Head", on account of how dead his eyes looked. It was one of those stupid names that a childish mind like hers would invent. Unfortunately, he grew old and died of kidney failure when she was 13.

“I don't know,” he shrugged, “I like the company. Shared a room with my brother growing up. The apartment felt empty ‘til I got Ralph. How about you? Any, uh, siblings?”

Karen stiffened. She resisted the tears she wanted to let out. She didn’t really like being reminded of Kevin. Especially not tonight, given how she’d just used his death just hours ago as a way of getting Neda to open up to her.

“Uh…” she stammered, trying to think of something to say.

“More wine?” Mitchell spoke up, sensing Karen's discomfort and trying to stage a quick intervention. He knew the truth about Kevin's death. He and Ben had both done their research into her past activities, and had assured her that they weren't letting it define their opinions of her. But that didn't make things easier for Karen.

“Um yeah,” she said to him. Then she turned back to Jason. “No, I had a brother, too, but, um but he died.” _In a car accident. Of my own doing. Because I took my eyes off the road while arguing with him._

“I'm sorry.” Jason sounded sympathetic.

“No, it's okay,” Karen said, fighting a tear forming in the corner of her eye, “It was 14 years ago.”

“Who wants dessert?” Mitchell asked.

“That'd be great. Thank you,” Karen said.

Unfortunately, that dessert would never come, as it was then that Mitchell’s phone rang.

“Sorry,” Mitchell said, “I'm sorry.” He got up and disappeared into the kitchen to take the call. “Yeah. Ellison.”

Karen thought nothing of it. Ellison was probably just fielding a call from a colleague filing a story...that is, until her Galaxy rang a second later. She took out her phone and grimaced when she saw the caller ID. It was Detective Brett Mahoney. _Now why is Brett calling me at this time?_ She thought. Did he have a case with potentially interesting leads for her? Did he have something about the Kazemis?

“Uh, sorry,” she said to Jason and Lily, before answering the phone. “Karen Page.”

“Hey Karen,” Brett said, “It’s Brett. Uh, I hope I’m not bothering you at this time.”

“Uh, no Brett,” Karen replied, “No, I’m fine. I’m just having dinner with Ellison’s family. What’s going on?”

She could hear Brett shifting uneasily on the other end of the line. There seemed to be a lot of chatter and chaos going on in the background on his end.

“Brett, is something wrong?”

“Have you contacted Foggy or Matt lately?”

“Uh, I spoke to Foggy at his family’s butcher shop just a few hours ago. Why do you ask?”

“I think you should be the first to know…” Brett paused. He sounded very somber and strained as he restarted... “I don't want be the bearer of bad news, Karen, and…look, there's no easy way to say this, but...Wilson Fisk is back on the streets.”

All the blood drained from Karen’s face in a microsecond. _Fisk is out?! Already?! How the fuck did this happen?!_ Fisk had been convicted of five RICO counts in the Southern District of New York, all but ensuring a life sentence for him. Clearly, he must have found some way to manipulate the legal system into letting him out early.

Internally, she started freaking out. If Fisk was out, it was only a matter of time before he started coming after the people responsible for locking him up. Foggy. Matt. Her. The day that he found out she was the one who killed James Wesley couldn't be too far off. If or when that day came, he’d kill her. And Matt wouldn’t be around to stop him. Or was he? Was that him who saved the Kazemis last night? Neda's descriptions of a masked man in black had given her hope, as it was too much a coincidence that she described it as looking like the black costume Matt had worn that night Rance had tried to kill her in her apartment.

"Karen?" Brett's voice jolted her back to reality.

“Sorry. Uh, what do you mean he's out? How did this happen?” she asked, regaining her voice.

“He made some deal with the FBI, he’s being moved to a safehouse of theirs here in the city. They got attacked en route," Brett said. His voice sounded very hollow. "That's all I know."

“Where is this safehouse, exactly?” Karen asked.

“I don't know,” Brett said tersely.  "Manolis has summoned me and the rest of his squad to the precinct for a debriefing. I'll call you tomorrow when I get more information."

“I understand.”

“I just wanted to warn you in case he, y’know, comes after the lawyers responsible for putting him away. You were their secretary..."

"Office manager," Karen corrected.

"...and I still haven't forgotten what Lieutenant Farnum tried to do to you while you were in custody with us.”

“I’ll be prepared for when that happens."

"I'll try to find more information on just what happened and I'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks for the heads up, Brett. Good night,” Karen replied before hanging up. _Oh god, no no no no no no..._

“Is everything okay, Karen? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lily said, cautiously.

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” Karen abruptly pushed back her chair, gathered her things and got up. She needed to head home, shower, and start thinking of some sort of strategy to go after Fisk. As she was heading for the door, she saw that Ellison had put his newsboy hat on and was headed out. Karen guessed that whoever he was on the phone with had informed him about Fisk as well, and he was on his way back to the office to get his reporters rallied and cover this breaking story. This was NOT something the _Bulletin_ was going to take lightly, not after what that monster had done to Ben Urich.

“Who in the HELL would let out Fisk?!” Karen shouted at Ellison, unable to contain her anger.

“Don't say his name!” Ellison hissed.

“What?! Why?!” Karen asked, offended.

Ellison stopped in the foyer and turned to face her. “Look,” he said in a quiet tone, “After Ben died, Lily was inconsolable. They were really close. And, you know, it turned out that somebody at my office had been working for him. We'd gotten to the point where an hour could go by, and I didn't have to call to reassure her that I'm alive.”

 _No wonder the name would be taboo in this household._ “I understand,” Karen replied.

“Good,” he said, “Then you won't push back when I tell you, you are staying away from this story.”

“I can't do that,” Karen said. _Fisk will come after me. You may know about what I did to my brother, but you don’t know a thing about just what sort of horrors Fisk put me through, Ellison.  
_

“Yes, you can. And you _will_.”

Karen knew what Ellison was really saying. He didn’t want her covering Fisk because the conflict of interests could possibly affect her reporting skills. He had tried to kill her twice, and unbeknownst to Ellison or anyone else, she had also killed Fisk's closest friend. “Look, I get it,” she said, “I have a history with that man.” 

“Makes it a conflict of interest.”

“Exactly,” she agreed.  _But surely expert knowledge trumps "conflict of interest" bullshit. Plus, you never went off on me for this when I was writing about Frank, who tried to kill me on a few occasions, and during which I got shot at thrice._ “But I also know him better than anyone else on our staff! Doesn't that give me a unique angle?”

“It gives you a bias,” Ellison said, grabbing his coat from the coat rack, “Look, it's not up for discussion. Enjoy the pie.” With that, he closed the door and headed out to his car.

Karen shook her head and yawned. It was time to head home anyways. It was getting late. It would be best for her to start her investigation into Fisk with a fresh head of steam. She gathered her belongings, and five minutes later, she was walking west on Brighton Beach Avenue towards the Brighton Beach subway station, so she could catch the Q train back to Manhattan.

* * *

At this time of night, the Q train was very much deserted. Rush hour had ended about two hours ago. There were only maybe two or three other passengers in the car that Karen was sitting in. That made it easier for her to process the swirl of information that Brett had told her over the phone. Fisk had apparently gotten out of prison with the help of the FBI. He also was being held at some safehouse somewhere in the city. Maybe this was some sort of witness protection thing, or maybe it was something else. She made a mental note to start talking to people from the FBI to find out more details. She'd have to be very quiet and discreet at this. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Ellison was right. Her personal experiences with Fisk, his multiple attempts to have her silenced over Union Allied and the tenement case, they made her too personally involved to be covering any stories she might find. Maybe that was what he had been getting at the other day when he took her off her Midland Circle research and assigned her to the Kazemi story, and told her the difference between running a story vs. letting a story run her _.  
_

Best not to think about it, she thought.  _I'm on a train, of those newer R160 cars with the cameras, call buttons to alert the motorman at both ends of the car. I have a gun in my purse and mace on my keychain. I should be good until we get to Times Square._ As the train stopped at Kings Highway, the doors opened and another passenger got on. She was surprised to see James Wesley sitting down across from her. He looked dressed exactly as he had when she’d killed him. No tie, and a dress shirt that was soaked in blood from the seven bullet holes she’d put in him.

_“Hello again, Miss Page,” he said._

_“Stop it, you’re dead,” she said. “How are you here?”_

_“Do you really think you can put this behind you?” he asked, motioning to the blood on his chest, “My employer probably will be displeased if he ever finds out what you’ve done here.”_

_“You worked for a scumbag who kills people that get in his way!” Karen shouted._

_“Hmmm,” Wesley clicked his tongue. “We’ll have to see about that, Miss Page. I doubt he’s forgotten about my murder, even after all these years. You know he is very resourceful. Even if you were smart enough to wipe away the prints, to throw away the gun, he will find you.”_

_“You gave me no choice,” she said, “Matt and Foggy are my family. I wouldn’t dare let you touch them!”_

_“You killed me. You killed your brother. You’re a killer, Miss Page,” he said, standing up from his seat and moving towards her. “That’s what you are. That’s all you ever will be."_

“Ma’am? Ma’am!”

Karen gasped at the feel of someone putting a hand on her shoulder. It was just a man in a business suit and tie. He looked like a spitting image of Wesley, just without the glasses, or the creepy monotone voice. He had a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Karen said, breathing deeply.  _False alarm, Karen. False alarm._ “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…was daydreaming. You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Are you sure you don't need a doctor?” he asked.

“Hey back off!” Karen snapped. “Just leave me alone!”

The man shrank away and took his seat again, though still kept his eyes on Karen.

This reminded her all too much of the nightmares, and occasional daymares, she’d had in the days after Fisk was arrested. They’d gone away after a while. This was the first one she’d had ever since…well at least a year. It probably wasn’t going to be the last. Usually, it was ones where Fisk would appear in her bedroom and squeeze the life out of her with his meaty hands. In others, she'd be shooting Wesley, and Fisk would appear to taunt her for getting another taste of killing someone. Always it ended with him killing her, her screaming, and waking up in a cold sweat.

Tunneling through downtown Brooklyn, and riding over the Manhattan Bridge, Karen spent the rest of the ride in silence, looking at her phone, checking the various news media sites to see if any of them were reporting yet on Fisk’s release. _Nothing yet,_ she thought. That was a relief. It would probably be the lead story on every TV station and radio outlet in the morning. Brett was right to give her the heads-up. Eventually, she heard the soothing voice of the train announcement for her stop.

_“This is: Times Square-42 nd Street. Transfer is available to the 1, 2, 3, 7, A, C, E, N, R, and W trains, and the Shuttle to Grand Central. Connection is available to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.”_

Karen gathered her belongings and got up as the train came to a stop. As she walked through the crowded mezzanine, headed for an exit, she kept looking over her shoulder, hoping that no one was following her. _Get it together, Karen. Fisk may be out but he can’t be too influential just yet._ Then again, Karen knew that Fisk liked to employ seemingly harmless people to do his dirty work. So anyone in the busy station could be on his payroll. Anyone could’ve been someone he was paying to watch her, relying on the big crowds of people in the city's busiest subway station to mask themselves. Eventually, she made it to an exit and stepped out into the middle of Times Square. From there, it would be a short few blocks up to 46th Street, then west to her apartment, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. As she was waiting to cross Seventh Avenue, she felt her phone chime. She sighed and pulled it out of her purse, expecting it to be Ellison. To her surprise, it was a text message. From Matt's cell phone number.

_Come to my apartment. We need to talk about Fisk. Come alone. Do not tell Foggy._

Karen felt her heart stop. Someone was using Matt's phone and had sent a text message to her, asking to come alone. Asking her to not tell Foggy. Her instincts kicked in. That didn't sound like anything Foggy would say. The best case scenario was that Matt had found his way back into his apartment--well, it was  _her_ apartment, but Karen refused to consider it hers-- in the time since she was last there, had heard about Fisk's release, and wanted to help her out with it. The worst case scenario was that Fisk had set a trap for her and it was one of his guys who had texted her while impersonating Matt. Karen would be grateful if was the former. It just had to be. It had to be. If it was a trap, it was definitely a cruel move on Fisk's part. _And how am I going to explain that I've moved into his apartment?_

As she put her phone away, Karen decided she might as well go there to check it out. As important as investigating Fisk was, it mattered more to her to see whether or not her suspicions about Matt had paid off.  _I need him more than ever._ She walked over to Ninth Avenue, constantly looking back over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her. Then she headed north to 46 th Street, then headed west about a half-block, to just past where the West Side Access tracks crossed under Hell’s Kitchen, carrying Amtrak trains from upstate locations down into Penn Station. There was the apartment. _Here goes nothing,_ Karen thought. She exhaled, calmed her nerves, and made her way up the stairs to Apartment 6A. Before entering, she took her gun out of her purse, and tried the knob with her free hand. _Just in case this IS a trap._ To her surprise, the door was unlocked, meaning someone was inside. _That's strange. I know I locked up the last time I was here.  
_

“Hello?” she called out, closing the door behind her, keeping her gun by her side. “Anybody here? Matt?”

No response. The apartment was dark and lit up only by the street lamps and by the giant neon billboard on the building across the street. She stepped into the living room, cautiously, in case this was a trap. There were the stacks of unpaid bills on the coffee table, untouched from where she and Foggy had left them the other day. Nothing else looked disturbed. And then she heard the familiar voice that she knew she had been dying to hear for the last three months.

“Hey, Karen.”

A figure emerged from the bedroom, slowly walking towards her. It was…it looked like Matt. He had the same height and approximate build as Matt.

She let out a pretty loud and audible gasp, her heart suddenly pounding stronger than ever. Fast enough that it must have been deafening to him.

“Matt?” she asked in a low whisper, putting her gun back in her purse.

The figure stepped out into the middle of the living room, the area illuminated by the light from the billboard. It was Matt, looking almost exactly like he had when she'd last seen him at the 29th Precinct. The same brown hair, same sightless eyes. The only element that seemed to have differed about him was that the stubble on his chin had grown out a bit.

For these three months since Midland Circle, she'd held out hope against hope that Matt was still out there. As time had passed, though, her hopes began to fade. But she refused to believe him dead because she just couldn't imagine a world without Matt. And now, here he was, very much alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The season seems to take place in late 2017/early 2018 (Foggy has an iPhone X). Deborah Ann Woll has said that Kevin died 11 years before Karen arrived in New York City. She also said Karen was 29 at the time of season 1 (set in 2014), and it's been two-and-a-half to three years since Fisk was locked up when season 3 starts. So Kevin's death probably happened sometime around spring 2004 (based on what we see in the flashback episode).
> 
> 2\. The timeline post-Defenders is kinda wonky in season 3. It's unclear how long it's been since Midland Circle, but Matt's recovery time in the church suggests it was about two or three months at minimum. Karen's comment when having dinner with Ellison's family about it being three months since she last had a home-cooked meal would also seem like a reasonable time period for Matt to recover. So I'm just going with three months as a baseline. In this timeline, The Punisher season 1 and Jessica Jones season 2 took place in November 2017, Luke Cage season 2 happened during December 2017, and Iron Fist season 2 happened during January 2018. 
> 
> 3\. In the actual season, Karen has an iPhone 7. I've made a slight change and have her using a Samsung Galaxy S8 Active.
> 
> 4\. As you'll notice, Karen has moved into Matt's apartment, rather than paying two rents. Between the scene of her and Foggy at Matt's apartment in episode 1 and when we saw her getting assigned the Kazemi story in episode 2, she decided to minimize her expenses by just moving into Matt's apartment completely. The reason for this change is pure and simple: Karen on a reporter's salary realistically shouldn't be able to pay rent for two apartments in Manhattan.
> 
> 5\. The mention of Karen's family once owning a black labrador named "McFly" is a twofer joke. I wanted to insert a reference to "Death's Head" (the arc where Karen's father appeared in the comics), but also a reference to one of two dogs that Deborah Ann Woll and her husband EJ Scott adopted from Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria.
> 
> EDIT (as of February 22, 2019): Decided to create a cover art for this story, combined from official set production photos of Matt and Karen talking to Jasper Evans (from "The Devil You Know"), and Fisk entering his secret command center (from "Aftermath").


	2. Reunion Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has a long awaited reunion with Karen, while Fisk gets settled into his new digs and contemplates his upcoming agenda.

**Matt's apartment:**

Matt raced across the rooftops as he made his way from Riverbank Medical Center back to his apartment, which took more effort than he’d expected it to take. After taking a few moments to regain his bearings, he descended into his apartment through the familiar roof access and entered the living room. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he stopped to reacquaint himself with the familiar surroundings.

Even though he was blind, his apartment felt surprisingly spacious to him. After the three months he'd spent between the convent and the Clinton Church's basement, this place seemed like Grand Central Terminal by comparison. As he scanned the living space, he could tell that the place had been cleaned up since he’d last set foot in here, when he and Jessica had made a pit stop here so that he could change out of his red armor before they talked to John Raymond’s family. All the damage he was aware the apartment had sustained during the Hand’s artificial earthquake had been fixed, so someone must’ve been taking care of that. There was also a very strong scent that permeated throughout the apartment. It took him a few moments to recognize it as the scent of a perfume that he knew Karen liked to wear a lot. Maybe it was her. _If this was your doing_ _, Karen, then thank you,_ Matt thought. He felt around on the table and found several stacks of mail, all neatly organized. He figured they were probably unpaid bills that had piled up. _And probably some worthless junk sent by people who don't know the tenant that lives here is blind._ He entered the bedroom, using his heightened senses to study the room. He could tell that the sheets had been changed and the bed had been made. Karen must have done that too. Had she been sleeping here too?

While in the bedroom, he sensed an electrical droning coming from his nightstand, and something that was conducting heat. He made his way over to the bed and fumbled around. It was his personal smartphone, sitting on a wireless charging stand. He’d left it, his glasses, and his civilian clothes in the gym bag Foggy had used to bring the Daredevil armor to the precinct. Foggy or Karen must have recovered it after he failed to return from Midland Circle. Feeling the currents in the air, he found something else on the nightstand right next to the charging stand. He picked it up gingerly, as if it were fragile and made of glass.

There were his glasses. The ruby red ones he wore every day when he was in public. As Matt fidgeted with them, he noticed that the left lens, which had been cracked when Elektra had knocked him out in the theatre, had been repaired. _Did Karen pay to have them fixed_? He wondered. He was becoming more and more amazed with what Karen was doing. Had she been looking after the apartment all this time? Just to be sure he wasn’t imagining things, he made his way back to the kitchen and checked the fridge. He couldn’t see anything, but he could smell that it had been freshly restocked, like someone was living here. That settled it for him. Karen had evidently been tending to the apartment for the last three months while he was laid up in that convent and feeling sorry for himself. Matt was somewhat surprised that Karen would go to such lengths, given that they'd dated all of once before things fell apart and Nelson  & Murdock broke up. Why would she do that for him as opposed to move on and let his lease run out?

The best guess he had as to why would be that him "dying" on her like he'd done had made her realize how deep her feelings for him were. Matt knew Karen had developed a crush on him from the moment he met her and said he knew she was innocent of Daniel Fisher's murder. Despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length, he couldn't help but develop strong feelings for Karen, which escalated to the point that he was willing to let her walk him home and kiss her in the rain. That led to their only date, at an Indian restaurant Karen picked out, before things fell apart between them. Before Elektra and Stick came back into his life, before things spiraled out of control as he tried and failed to juggle helping them stop the Hand with defending Frank Castle. When the dust had settled, Nelson & Murdock was no more and Matt was left with just a pro bono practice.

Realizing how lonely he'd been, Matt had approached Karen and finally came clean with her about his secret. While she took the news really well, she was still hesitant to let Matt back into her life after the amount of bridges he'd burned with her and Foggy. They were only just getting back on speaking terms when the Hand's earthquake had happened. But in spite of the damage, Karen still had her crush on Matt. He remembered how rapid her heartbeat had been when she approached him in the courthouse after his victory in the Aaron James case. They'd talked over lunch afterwards about their lives, and Karen had made clear that she was interested in restarting a romantic relationship between them. Although, at the same time, Matt could tell Karen seemed to be holding back. He knew she was hiding something from him that she seemed to be afraid to tell him about, something she'd been carrying with her since a few days before they took Fisk down. Now, three months later, Matt realized, if that 'something' had to do with Fisk, he might use it against her, and it'd be best if Matt was in the know so he could help her with it.

 _Shit, I need to contact her._ Matt didn’t know how to get in touch with Karen, and he figured, given the threat Fisk posed, that maybe she should come to him rather than him come to her. She probably would freak out at seeing him knocking on the windows of her apartment. He returned to the bedroom and sat down on his bed. He picked up the phone and directed the audio assistant on his phone to send a text message to Karen.

“ _Come to my apartment. We need to talk about Fisk. Come alone. Do not tell Foggy,”_ he dictated _._ A second later, he heard the chime of the text being sent. He briefly considered sending a second message to Foggy, but figured that it might be too much to break the news to both of his friends that he was still alive and well, so decided against it. He'd let Foggy and Marci know in a night or so. All he could do now was wait, and see if Karen decided to heed his text. 

That, he couldn’t really know. Would she want to speak to him, given everything that had happened? He knew he had ruined things between them by keeping her in the dark, he knew that. When he’d finally spilled his secret to her, he’d put her hand on his heart and promised her he wouldn’t lie to her anymore. And then he had lied to her when he said he had put Daredevil in the chest, literally and metaphorically, and locked it up and thrown away the key, as the saying went. Sure, he felt bad about it, as he’d explained to Father Lantom in confessional, but he wished he had been more upfront about it to Karen. He couldn’t help but play back the final conversation they’d had in the 29th Precinct right before he fled with Luke and Jessica to Midland Circle.

_"Well, it looks pretty bad,” Karen said, “It’s only a matter of time before they start to put things together."_

_“Yeah, I know, I know,” Matt said._

_"God. I don’t understand. After everything you’ve worked for? You were finally rebuilding your life."_

_"Karen_ this _is my life. I have to go.”_

If only Matt could take back the words he’d said that night. If he could do things over, he’d have said something else. He’d had to leave her with such tense words and due to the way things unfolded in the pit, he ended up having no way of apologizing for them. He knew Karen still had strong feelings for him, in spite of how little time they'd dated, in spite of those bitter last words he’d said to her, considering she'd been taking care of his apartment in his absence. And even in spite of his preoccupations with Elektra, the Hand, and everything else, none of that had been able to chip at the strong feelings he had for Karen. She was very much like a spitting image of him. She was compassionate towards the less fortunate denizens of Hell’s Kitchen, and she was just as determined to see justice served. And she had just as much of a bad habit of running into the fire when they were investigating Fisk. Something, Matt had realized, made her the most ideal ally of his to reach out to. He knew Karen would probably jump at the opportunity to work with him. She was the one other person he knew who was just as obsessed with bringing Fisk to justice as he was. And he had to owe Karen a lot of credit for giving him information that allowed him to pursue leads on Fisk that actually led somewhere useful. If it hadn’t been for her removing that pension file from Union Allied, he probably never would have found out about Fisk’s schemes, at least not as fast as he ultimately did. What she had been doing with Ben Urich while he was out beating up  Vladimir Ranskahov and his people, had been vital to figuring out that Union Allied was connected to Elena Cardenas’ tenement case, and in turn, that all of it was connected to Fisk. And if it hadn’t been for Karen’s diligence, he probably would never have found where Owlsley had been hiding Detective Hoffman in time to stop Fisk’s cops from killing him.

Not knowing how long he might have until she showed up, he decided to dress down. He stripped off his hat and jacket, stuffing them in the closet. He rummaged through the dressers, eventually settling on a plain T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. While he was grabbing fresh clothes, he noticed that someone had reorganized the closet, allocating all of his clothing to one half, while the other half was entirely populated by women's clothing. Karen must have been sleeping here; and often enough that she’d taken to stocking fresh clothes in his closets just in case she found herself unable to return to her own apartment for whatever reason. He was gonna have to ask her about that too when she got here.

* * *

 He was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard Karen unlocking the front door.

“Matt? Are you in here?”

Matt listened as she stepped cautiously into the living room, carrying a gun, as if worried she was being set up. _Now or never,_ Matt thought. He stepped out of the shadows of the bedroom door.

“Hey, Karen,” he said.

Karen’s heartrate shot up tenfold.

“Matt?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She quickly put the gun back in her purse.

Matt stepped cautiously forwards, passing between the twin armchairs and making his way around the coffee table to wear Karen was standing.

“This can’t be real…” she said quietly.

Without saying another word, Matt slipped one hand into her right palm, and placed her hand on his heart, while simultaneously stroking the skin below her elbow with the other hand. Just like he had on the night he’d revealed his big secret to her. The whole time, he could hear her heart beating rapidly, drowning out all other sounds.

Whatever uncertainty Karen had had about this being a dream, it quickly dissipated.  Matt was alive. Foggy was wrong to write him off as dead. Her fears of having to face the possibility that Matt was not coming back had only reinforced what Frank had said to her in that diner. They had made her realize the depths of her feelings for Matt. She recalled the conversation she’d had with Foggy in the church on the Saturday after that, as she was holding a candlelit vigil and praying for Matt's return. She'd never really considered herself a religious person, not since her mom died, but she was willing to do this because she knew Matt valued his Catholicism.

_"I mean, if I reveal what happened at Midland Circle, then all it takes is someone like me figuring out,” Karen had said, “Superhero and lawyer go missing at the same time."_

_"Right,” Foggy nodded. The final words he'd said to Matt still reverberated in his head, discussing the importance of Matt keeping his two identities separate. Foggy knew that Matt could not afford to have anyone put two and two together, because it would mean consequences for Foggy too. Foggy would risk being disbarred, maybe even jail, and Marci might even go down with him, since there was no way the Bar Association wouldn't think they'd known all along about his best friend's night activities. Even worse, what if Wilson Fisk found out about these activities?  
_

_"I can’t shake this feeling, like it’s-like it’s not real," Karen said. This feeling of denial was something she was becoming all too acquainted with, reminding her of her dad's refusal to face reality when the diner was struggling financially. "Or, or even if it is, like, it’s not over, because they’re still digging, right?"_

_"Karen, it’s been days,"  Foggy insisted. Karen was semi-frustrated that Foggy refused to believe the possibility that Matt could still be alive, but she couldn't blame him. Matt had told her the circumstances of how Foggy had found out his secret identity.  
_

_"Maybe he made it out."_

_"Maybe. Maybe."  
_

Whereas Foggy had been resigned to believing Matt was dead and had moved on with his life, Karen refused to believe this to be the case, in the absence of a body. After all the people she’d lost - her mother, her brother, Daniel Fisher, Ben Urich, and countless others - she didn’t want to consider Matt gone. For the first few weeks, she’d thought up different possible scenarios under which Matt could’ve survived. But between Ellison keeping her busy at the _Bulletin,_ and that little adventure with Frank, among other distractions, she had never gotten a chance to explore any of these leads. Hell, she couldn’t even go public with the truth about Midland Circle; she was that worried that anything she said would eventually find its way into Fisk’s hands.

So at the very least, Karen did everything she could to ensure that if Matt came back, he’d be able to return to his normal life as if nothing had ever changed. She essentially took over Matt’s apartment. She started paying his bills out of her own pocket, even though it would be financially taxing on her. She hired a contractor friend of Foggy’s under the table to fix the earthquake damage. She restocked his fridge to ensure he’d have food on hand. Everything to basically render the place like a museum of sorts, to Matt’s happier days. Unfortunately the rents in New York City were NOT cheap, and while the _Bulletin_ paid well, it wasn't enough to cover the rent and utilities of two apartments. Karen found this out in early January, when she began to fall behind on rent for both apartments. She'd managed to convince Foggy to chip in and help her pay January's rent on Matt's apartment, but that wouldn't completely pay off her other bills. She briefly considered letting Matt's place go and just boxing up his possessions. But she still refused to believe Matt was dead, and hence, didn't want to let the apartment go, figuring that it should be waiting there for Matt for whenever he returned. Without telling Foggy, she made a drastic decision: she would just move into Matt's place completely. Beyond the whole matter of Matt, it was a practical choice anyways. The rent on it was much lower than that of Karen's own apartment, something Karen attributed entirely to the giant light-emitted billboard across the street, as Matt had suggested to her the first time she'd stayed over.

So over the course of the second week of January, Karen quietly hired movers to move everything save for her furniture into Matt's apartment, with the furniture being put in a storage locker. She'd managed to keep this a secret from Foggy, which wasn't too much a surprise given that they hadn't spoken all that much since the breakup of Nelson & Murdock, and their new careers didn't allow for much free time.  Furthermore, Foggy was very preoccupied with his new job working for Jeri Hogarth, and given his guilt over bringing Matt's suit to the precinct, he considered the apartment off-limits. 

This had been how her living situation had been for the past month. Things changed just today, when Ellison had assigned Karen to write about the Kazemis' attack. She had felt very intrigued when Neda had told her about a masked man in black who thwarted her father's attempted kidnapping. Karen recognized the description right away as being the sort of outfit that Matt had worn in his early days as Daredevil, when he had stopped Rance's attempt to kill her in her first apartment. In a moment of excitement, she had gone straight to a family gathering Foggy was having with his family at the butcher shop to inform him of her suspicions. She didn't like the response Foggy gave her:

_"Believe me, I want it to be Matt, too," Foggy said in a hushed whisper. "But he's - gone."_

_"No, no-" Karen started._

_"We need to get past that," Foggy said.  
_

  
_"There is no proof of that," Karen protested, "And until there is-"_

_"You know how I know he's gone?" Foggy interrupted her. "Because if it was Matt, if he was really still alive, he would've reached out to us." Karen knew that at some level, Foggy was telling the truth. But she still refused to believe Matt dead in the absence of a body. And now with evidence of someone resembling Matt running around out there...  
_

_"You know how I know that you don't really believe that?" she fired back. "You keep saying 'gone' instead of 'dead'. Now, don't you want to take a minute and just be absolutely sure that's not your best friend out there somewhere?"_

_"I wish it was my best friend. But it's not. He's dead."_

_Argh! You are not helping, Foggy._ Karen had been so frustrated that Foggy hadn't bought into her theory. She was determined to prove Foggy wrong. Even while she was having dinner with Ellison's family a few hours later, this was still one of the main things on her mind, that is, until she'd heard that Fisk was out. She didn't care how long it took or whether she blew off other stories that Ellison tried to have her assigned to. Finding the Kazemis' savior was her top priority.

And right now, here in what had been his apartment, these suspicions of Karen's had finally paid off. The Kazemis' savior was Matt. And he was alive and well. And he’d reached out to her. But was it truly because he wanted her help in going after Fisk? Or was that just pretense to ‘see’ her again? Or maybe was it both? All she hoped was that the answer was “both”. Karen didn’t know what the proper response was to “your estranged sorta boyfriend who died on you under a skyscraper a few months ago and has suddenly reappeared out of the blue because he wants you to help him stop the crimelord you put away two and a half years ago, and oh, you're now living in his apartment” was. How was it that the main characters of _Princess Bride_ had done it again? _Oh, right…_

“Karen, I…” Matt started to say. He was taken off guard when Karen suddenly kissed him, wrapping her arms around him like she was clinging onto a precious child.  He couldn't help but kiss her back.

“Karen,” he let out an involuntary moan. He worried for a bit that Karen was going to crush his ribcage with how tightly she was grasping him, but he couldn’t resist.  After what felt like an eternity, she eventually broke the kiss and pulled away, exhilarated.

“Holy shit! I knew it! I knew it! I had this gut feeling you were alive and now I see I’m right!” she said, catching her breath as she stepped back. “Holy shit, you’re alive! I just knew you had to have somehow gotten out of there!”

Matt’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“I’ve missed you, Karen,” he said.

“I’ve missed you, too, Matt,” she said, tearing up herself. She was completely unsure of what she was to do now. What should she ask? Ask him what he had found out about Fisk, as that was the subject of his text message? Or ask him how he survived being buried under a 400 foot tall skyscraper  and why he hadn’t bothered contacting her or Foggy all this time?

"Do you wanna sit?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Karen nodded. They sat down on the couch.

"You have some questions, obviously," he said.

“How the hell are you even alive?” she asked, abruptly. “That pit was 400 feet deep, that there was no other way out.”

“I don’t know…really,” Matt said.

“Well what do you know?”

He shrugged. "Realistically, I probably should be dead and not here talking to you."

 _That’s true. But I would kinda like a longer answer_. Matt could tell Karen wasn’t entirely satisfied by the answer he’d given her. So he took a deep breath and continued.

“I was down there…with Elektra,” he said, “I heard the explosives going off and I was holding her.” He paused, still trying to process what had happened. “It's all a bit of a blur, but the next thing that I know is that I blacked out.”

He took a deep breath, recounting what he had learned from Father Lantom and Sister Maggie after the fact. “Apparently, a cabbie found me in a vacant lot near the West Side Highway, and I was able to ask him for Father Lantom before passing out. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a bed at St. Agnes. At least, sorta.”

“What do you mean?” Karen asked, showing concern.

“I spent the next few weeks confined to a bed in the convent, being tended to by the nuns,” he said.  “I couldn’t even find my own way to the bathroom without assistance. My hips were sprained. I had completely lost many of my senses. My hearing, especially. I had zero hearing in my right ear for a few weeks, and only partial hearing in my left ear. Gosh, I felt completely helpless. It's not a feeling that I really like.” He cringed. Before Midland Circle, the last time he’d ever felt that helpless was when he’d temporarily lost his hearing in both ears for a few hours, after Frank shot him in the head. After that scare, he’d made a vow that he never wanted to be in that position ever again. If only he’d been able to keep it.

Karen’s heart ached with sympathy. For as bitter as she was that Matt hadn’t bothered to call her or Foggy to let them know he was okay, that he had left them thinking that he was dead for all this time, at least he was offering a good excuse. He was too badly injured to even think of contacting them.  At least for the first few weeks. But after that, he should have contacted her and Foggy to assure them he was alive. Why didn’t he?

“Oh Matt…” she said, softly, “That must've been awful. But, you know, you didn’t have to go through all that by yourself.  You could've easily just called Foggy and me. We'd have come for you and been there every step of the way.”

Matt put his hand in hers. “I know. I know. You would have been there. But I felt like didn't deserve you or Foggy. I hurt you. I broke your trust. Over and over. I figured it'd be better for me if I just considered Matt Murdock to be something that was buried under Midland Circle.”

“Yeah, I know, I get it,” Karen looked down at her hands. She couldn’t help but think about how she felt in the weeks after Kevin’s death. Deep down, she had felt she had deserved nobody. She had been the one behind the wheel of their Jeep. She had been driving while angry and under the influence of drugs and alcohol, and she had just shot Todd in the arm. If she hadn’t taken her eyes off the road when she did, she wouldn’t have hit that guardrail and maybe Kevin would still be alive. Or maybe she’d have still crashed and still killed him, just not on that stretch of road. “I know what it’s like. It just makes me feel…sad for you, really…”

“Me, too,” he  murmured, in solemn agreement.  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Karen, but I did. I’m sorry.”

“So… when did you get out of there?” she asked, quietly.

“Well I first left the orphanage after a few weeks,” he answered, “Then Father Lantom moved me to the crypt underneath the church. I was there until last night, actually. And I didn’t come back here until I heard that Fisk was out.”

She shifted a bit. “Is that what made you finally decide to come to me? Fisk?”

Matt let out a sigh. “You, actually. When I heard Fisk was back on the streets, I…” He trailed off… “I couldn’t stop thinking of you, Karen. He tried to have you killed twice. He might try a third time. I put him away once, I need to do it again.”

Karen just nodded. That much was true. They both had a lot to lose if Fisk decided to go all out against the law firm that took him down. _But why only tell me? Had he reached out to Foggy or not?_ “Who else knows that you’re alive?”

“The nuns and Father Lantom, obviously. And now, you.”

“You haven’t told Foggy?” Karen asked, incredulously. "Just going off your text."

Matt lowered his head and turned away from Karen, facing in the direction of the windows. “No, I have not.”

“You need to tell him, Matt. Come on, he deserves to know! Fisk can't have forgotten about him. Wouldn't it put him at ease to know that his best friend is alive and well?”

Matt exhaled. Of course, she was right. Foggy deserved to know that he was back. If he wasn’t already asleep, he’d probably already seen the news. It might put him at ease to know that Matt was around to deal with Fisk. “I know,” he murmured, turning back to Karen. “I promise, I’ll tell him. Just…maybe not right at the moment. I’m telling you now because, well, next to me, you were more deeply involved in bringing down Fisk than Foggy ever was. Can you promise me you won’t tell him, Karen? Please? Let me be the one to tell him the truth.”

“Foggy’s your best friend, Matt. I really don't want to have to tell him any fake news.”

“Yes. I know, I know..." Matt paused before continuing. "...but Foggy deserves to hear the truth from me personally. It's the least I can do for him. I know how badly I've messed things up between all of us, even before Midland Circle.  I know I let you and Foggy down and…” Matt paused before continuing  “…I don’t want to put you or him in any more danger. I’ve witnessed enough of Fisk’s operation to know that he’s never lost the power he had before he went to prison.”

Karen conceded that Matt may have a valid point. But she still didn’t exactly feel easy about it. She exhaled and pursed her lips. “Okay, but… you need to tell him sooner rather than later. In case you’ve forgotten, Matt, I’m no stranger to what it’s like to be kept in the dark about things.” _I think he'd be happy just to hear your voice again. But if you don't want to call him, I can at  least send him a text or something. Knowing you're alive might make it easier for him to concentrate on exposing Fisk._

Matt gave her a sad nod of agreement. It was not like he hadn’t tried to see things from that perspective. He’d kept Karen in the dark for a full year about Daredevil. Even after he had come clean with her, she was bitter about him having lied to her. He also was aware she was keeping some big secrets of her own. Asking her to cover for him? That would take some convincing.

“I know,” Matt said quietly, putting a hand on Karen’s leg and stroking it. “Once we have some solid leads.”

“We?” Karen narrowed her eyes.

“We were only able to take Fisk down the first time because we worked together,” he said, “surely it can work out again.” Matt caught himself, remembering that things were different; she had a new boss. He added as a quick clarification, “I mean, if that’s what you’re up for. I know, you don’t work for me anymore…but… working with Jessica, with Luke, with Danny, to take on the Hand, it made me realize there are some problems I can’t handle all by myself.”

It seemed like an interesting proposition, Karen admitted to herself. Matt was apologizing for all the pain he had caused her. And she really hadn’t gotten a chance to understand this other side of him, given how he hung things up in the months before Midland Circle. Plus, she had to admit, he did have better knowledge of the inner workings of Fisk’s operation than she did. He also had subdued Fisk when he attempted to escape custody. And if Fisk ever found out about what she did to James Wesley, or even found out the truth about her brother, Matt would be the best person to protect her. When it came down to her feelings for Matt vs. what he could provide her, the answer seemed painfully obvious. She made that clear when she let out a somewhat enthusiastic, “Uh, sure!” As much as Ellison was insistent on benching her, she knew deep down that Fisk was _her_ story. Not some other reporter’s. Not some copywriter with only a few months on the job. It was _hers_ , and _hers_ alone. She quickly course-corrected, “I actually-I love this idea. I can probably cover more ground on this with you than Ellison would ever let me do so.”

“So that’s a yes?” Matt asked, smiling.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose it is,” she said, smiling back, “It is. I mean, honestly it's something I've actually wanted to do for a while. Had I known what you were capable of the first time we brought down Fisk, I’d have probably suggested this way back when.”

Another thought crossed Karen’s mind. Matt had hung up the suit right after he’d come clean with her. Despite her strong feelings for him, they hadn't spoken too much since then. Matt had kept his distance, figuring they just needed space to process everything. Karen had told herself that if they ever got back to dating, she really wanted to get a fuller picture of what exactly Matt was capable of, and bring in some hot scoops for the _Bulletin_ ’s police beat. It actually hurt her a bit to realize that of all the heroic things Daredevil had done, the only major stuff of note that Karen was acquainted with had been the cases where she had been involved, namely, his takedowns of both Fisk and the Hand. Crimelords like Fisk couldn’t be the only kinds of people Matt went after in Hell’s Kitchen, right? They didn’t necessarily grow on trees.

Karen blushed with embarrassment as she continued. “On a semi-related note, I really really want to know more about your other life. About Daredevil.”

“Really?” he asked.

“I mean, I keep thinking about it, and I can't help but think about how, you've done all this heroic stuff for years. Yet, most of what you've done is very much in the shadows. The only splashy stuff you've ever done that I can easily cite is when when we took on Fisk, and well, when you were going after the Hand.  What exactly do you do when we don’t have any syndicates or mobs trying to get turf in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Matt gave her a knowing look. “Most of the time, it's just the small fry element. The kind who are afraid to show their faces when there isn't a big criminal organization running the neighborhood. But are still very much a big of a physical challenge."

Karen felt goosebumps on her skin. She seemed…was it turned on? Well, maybe not turned on but certainly interested in hearing more.

"Not all of them get tossed onto the front steps of the _Bulletin_ like that accountant from _The Dark Knight,_ " she said, jokingly.

"Nah, I mostly just rescue their victims, beat them into submission, then leave them in the streets for the cops to find." It wasn't exactly an easy job, given how resourceful some of these criminals could be. "It's actually more important for me that their would-be victims are okay, and usually takes precedence over bringing in their attackers. I never said it was something easy to do."

“Well you certainly strike fear into their hearts," Karen said, smirking a little bit, "Like, one minute, they're about to score a couple hundred bucks off someone they're mugging. Next, you're swooping in out of nowhere and handing their asses to them.“

“I like to chalk that up to my strategic use of rooftops," Matt replied. "I’d say I’m very acquainted with most of the fire escapes in Hell’s Kitchen. Makes it easier for me to leap into action when I hear someone crying for help. I just have to focus, tune in their location, and, then I'm off to aid someone in need."

Matt paused for a bit as he tried to get a read on Karen’s heartbeat and voice.  She was intrigued. She genuinely wanted to hear the nastier details. Matt took this as a signal to tell her some of his more harrowing pre-Midland Circle tales.

"Are there any specific stories that you seem particularly proud of?" she asked.

"I figured you'd ask that," he replied. He decided to recount to her some of the highlights from around the time they had been going after Fisk. She took it all in stride, asking leading questions to get the finer bits, but she did seem a bit uneasy as Matt described the night he’d met Claire and fought through a hallway of the Ranskahovs’ men to get to a boy they’d kidnapped as bait for him. She seemed particularly amused when he described his takedown of some diamond thieves who robbed a jewelry store around the same time Frank had hit the Kitchen Irish.

“You should’ve been there,” Matt told her, “The sushi guys got to take their turn with the men after I dealt with them.”

But enough about past exploits. Karen now really wanted to know what Matt had been doing since Midland Circle.

“That was you who thwarted the Kazemis’ kidnapping last night, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Matt nodded. “Yeah.”

“You know, the moment his daughter told me a man in a black mask and a skintight shirt saved their lives, I just knew it had to be you,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile widely. “There’s only one person in Hell’s Kitchen who fights crime in sexy skintight spandex.”

Matt laughed and put his hand on her leg.

“Who else could it be?”

“Not the teenager who dresses up like a spider and shoots silk webs out in Queens, that’s for sure,” she said, smiling back at Matt.  “He’s red, not black. No, this spandex wearing hero is the one who’s sexy. I mean, am I bad that I get turned on whenever I dream about you fighting Rance in the rain?”

Matt made a face. Karen had told him she dreamed a lot about both times he’d rescued her when he first told her his secret. She laughed and covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Honestly I think it shows off your body a lot more than the armor you used to wear. Although that armor probably was more protective than what you currently have."

Matt couldn’t help but laugh alongside her. It was as if they were back to the good old days, when they’d only been back in touch for about an hour at the most.

“Did you find the Kazemis’ attackers?” she asked, once their laughter subsided.

“Yeah, I tracked them to a drycleaning business down on 34th near 11th,” Matt replied, “Beat them senseless. I wasn’t able to find out who they may have been working for, though…and I doubt they’ll give up their employer to you.”

“Rostam Kazemi probably has a ton of enemies,” Karen nodded. “Reminds me, I probably should conduct another interview with Neda tomorrow. Ellison is expecting me to do that, rather than cover Fisk.”

"Let me guess, conflict of interest," Matt said, "He victimized you and tried to have you killed twice. Anything you say about him could come off as biased."

"Exactly..." Karen muttered. "But I have something no other reporter at the  _Bulletin_ has: you."

She yawned. The stresses of the long day caught up to Karen, and she remembered that she’d made a mental note to herself on the train to get a good night’s sleep before taking on Fisk. She checked her watch and saw that it was 11:00 pm.

“I should probably get to bed,” she yawned again. “It’s been a long day, and you know, my anxiety about Fisk isn’t exactly helping.” She yawned yet again. “Jeez. We should probably be going to ground.”

“Fine by me,” he said. “I’d like to know more about what you’ve been up to while I’ve been away.”

"Quite a lot, actually," she grinned. "We might be up all night talking about that."

Karen stood up and grinned as she disappeared into the bedroom. After shooting a quick text to Foggy urging him to check the news, and plugging in her phone to charge, she went into Matt’s closet, rummaging for some good sleepwear. She settled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of Matt’s button-up dress shirts, and took them to the bathroom.  She couldn’t help but think about the first night she’d stayed here, when Matt took her in while she was in legal trouble. She remembered how when he’d loaned her one of his dress shirts, she’d changed right in front of him. She felt embarrassed, being topless in the presence of a blind man, thinking that he couldn’t see. Now that she knew what he was capable of, she suspected he knew everything, including that she had been naked. If he could sense that, were there _other_ things where his senses gave him an advantage over a normal person? Her mind began racing as she then remembered the sensual experience Matt gave her when he kissed her in the rain that one night almost a year later, how he traced the raindrops falling on her skin before pulling her in for a kiss. A tiny voice inside Karen told her it was wrong that she was suddenly thinking about what Matt was like in bed, but the rest of her thought it was just...so...right. She hadn’t had sex with anyone since…well not since Todd. Geez, had it been that long? Her tastes in men certainly hadn’t changed in 14 years.

That thought on her mind, she turned on the water and stepped into the shower. As she let the water cascade over her skin, she felt a lump forming in her throat. Matt’s promise that he wouldn’t lie to her. The more she thought about it, the more she wished that this openness was a two way street. He’d opened up to her about Daredevil, but she hadn’t reciprocated. Fisk was going to come after her for Wesley’s death, if he ever found out. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she needed to tell Matt about this. She had wished that she had gotten to tell Matt about this before Midland Circle. Maybe now she’d get a chance to do that. That terrified her. 

What terrified her more was how Matt might react to it. He condemned Frank for killing when the topic had come up between them during his trial. Did that mean he condemned killing in all forms? _That’s ridiculous though,_ she thought. She had only ever killed two people. Kevin was a complete accident, and while Wesley's death was cold-blooded murder, but he’d been threatening her friends. Frank had over 100+ bodies to his name. That was apples and oranges. Besides, she hadn’t been able to judge Matt when he’d confessed his secret to her. She couldn’t condemn his secrecy when he’d saved her life twice and she hadn’t told him at all about what she’d done. She loved the idea of working with Matt to put Fisk back in Riker’s was a great idea, but they’d need to be completely open with one another. They’d lost Nelson & Murdock because they kept too many secrets from one another. It was time to set a new chapter. In more ways than one.

She turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry her skin. She was only halfhearted in her efforts, figuring Matt would sense her wet skin. She buttoned up her shirt and stepped out, turning around to enter the bedroom. Matt was in there and was already tidying the bed. He looked up in her direction. He’d heard her rapid heartbeat through the walls while she’d been showering, and wondered if there was something else on her mind. He obviously noticed right away she was wearing one of his shirts.

“Karen?” he asked, getting up and walking across the room to her.

“I couldn’t help but think a bit about that night,” she said. “The night we met. You still think about it, right?”

“All the time,” he said, confused. He could sense her fast heartbeat, a slight change in her voice, and the endorphins being released by her body. She was sexually aroused and was trying to seduce him.

Karen gave her best seductive smile as she stepped up to him. “When I told you I couldn't stop dreaming about the two times you saved my life, I forgot to mention that these dreams went a little further than just that." Matt gave her a look  of amusement. "In them, he always showed up in my apartment so I could thank him in the only reasonable way possible."

"I'm sure there are a lot of women with the hots for Daredevil, Miss Page," he said, smirking.

"Yes, but how many of them can say he's saved them twice?" she asked, smiling. She could see Matt's resolve weakening. She dropped her voice to a low whisper as she put her forehead to his. "I think there's parts of you that know exactly what I want."

Before Matt had a chance to figure out what Karen meant, she brushed her lips over his in a passionate kiss, sighing into his mouth. Matt took that as a cue to deepen their kiss, forcing her mouth open with his tongue, enjoying the warmth and wetness of it. Karen slipped her hands under his shirt and began tugging it up, intent on taking it off. He briefly let go of her long enough to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Karen briefly dipped her head to kiss his neck before letting him resume his exploration of her mouth. He let his hands wrap around her waist and pulled her closer, making her feel his arousal as it pressed into her stomach. Karen was unfazed by all the scars that she could see on his chest, letting him distract her with his mouth. The pure thought of Matt, er, Daredevil making love to her sent fire through her veins, and she let out another moan of pleasure. Her hands wove themselves into his hair, to have something to hold on to as her knees began to buckle. He felt it too and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, not taking her lips off of his as he carried her the remaining couple of steps to the bed and deposited her on it.

"Matt..." she whispered in a deep husky voice, reaching for him when he didn't come to her fast enough. The urge to be close to him was almost unbearable. He seemed to be feeling the same thing, though, snapping out of his trance-like state and crawling on top of her, his mouth meeting hers.

"I'm here," he assured as he showered her face with feathery kisses. "I'm here.”

"Matt..." Karen moaned again. She closed her eyes at his masterful touch, feeling rather than seeing him slowly, deliberately slowly, undressing her. Squirming beneath him, she tried to urge him on, but he would have none of that, taking his time, exploring her body inch by inch, intent on giving her the best experience of her life.

 ****************40 minutes later****************

* * *

“Oh my god, Matt,” Karen panted, catching her breath as Matt rolled over and lay down next to her after two very intense rounds of lovemaking. It had been so intense that she was certain Fran down the hall had come out to investigate the continuous moaning sounds coming from 6A. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head in the space under his chin. She was grinning widely, in a way she hadn't thought was possible. For all she knew about his abilities to fight, his abilities in bed just blew her away. For the first time in ages, Karen finally understood what it meant to make love with someone. Somehow, Matt made every one of her past boyfriends look like complete wusses. “Just…wow.”

Matt grinned back at her. “What?”

“I never thought it would be this good. You’re amazing.”

Karen sighed contentedly. Matt's arms went protectively around her waist, drawing her closer as he pulled the silk covers over their heated and naked bodies.

“You really are the Devil,” she said, her voice one of admiration, amusement and lust, “In the streets and in the sheets.”

Matt kissed her forehead. She idly ran a finger over one of the many scars that riddled his chest. “I’m guessing the nuns and Father Lantom had to admire your war trophies here.”

“More than an eyeful,” he smiled.

Karen giggled, tipping her up to kiss Matt softly on the lips, while tracing the scar from one end to another. A thought popped into her head. If Matt had been laid up for the last three months, how had he been able to fight off those people who attempted to kidnap the Kazemis? Anyone who had been out of action for as long as that would certainly need to retrain themselves.

“Are any of them martial arts practitioners? Did you get any form of exercise while you were there?” she asked.

“Father Lantom found another parishioner who also trains at Fogwell’s,” Matt smiled  sheepishly. “He was initially very wary about the idea of fighting a blind man, but you know Father Lantom. He can be very persuasive.”

Karen giggled. The idea of Father Lantom refereeing a sparring match was just too amusing for her to resist. She’d only ever seen him in the context of the eulogies he’d given at funerals like the ones for Elena, for Ben, and for Grotto.

“I bet he probably enjoyed it,” she said, “Watching you go nine rounds.”

Matt laughed, planting another kiss on her lips. Then he remembered something he had been intending to ask Karen before she showered, before their round of very sensational lovemaking: why she had decided to move into his apartment.

“Mind if I ask you something?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied.

“You were saying you and Foggy thought I was dead all this time,” he said, “But when I was waiting for you to show up, I couldn’t help but realize you had been by very recently. I recognized your perfume. It’s a very strong one that always takes forever to dissipate.  I also noticed that you’d left all my mail sorted out on the coffee table.”

“I had to keep it tidy. And get rid of all the shit that they send that's not in braille."

“And I noticed just now that you’d gotten your own key to the apartment, and some of your clothes had made their way into my closet," he continued, "So, you at the minimum, can’t possibly have thought I was dead. If you thought I was dead, why would you be taking care of my apartment and tending to my rent and utilities?”

"I'm not just taking care of the apartment," she replied, "I live here now."

That wasn't something Matt expected to hear. "Since when?"

"Since a few weeks ago," she replied. "Well, I've been doing housekeeping duties, figuring, you'd want the place to be just as it was whenever you returned.” She laughed with embarrassment. "Should've known it would eat a huge part of my budget up, splitting my time between this place and my place. I can't afford to pay two rents with what Ellison is paying me."

"But why move in here?" Matt asked, quietly. "Why not just end my lease and move on with your life?"

Karen exhaled and took a deep breath. She cleared her throat and put her hand on his shoulder. "Honestly, I’ve lost too many people in my life. Foggy was convinced that I was in complete denial and…honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Like, I knew you were probably dead, but deep down, without a body, I was convinced that you were still alive. That you'd somehow made it out of Midland Circle intact." She ran her hand over his shoulder sensually for a few moments as she continued. "I couldn't imagine living in a world where you didn't exist."

"That's either very romantic or very sad," Matt said.

"I like to convince myself it was the former," Karen murmured.

"Don't we all?" Matt asked.

She sighed. "Y’know, when I heard from Neda about your heroics the other day, I tried telling Foggy about it and he brushed me off. He  insisted that you were dead. He told me it couldn't be you because it were really you, you’d have told us. You’d have told him. That you wouldn’t let us believe  you’re dead when you aren’t. I told him it was bullshit."

Matt kissed her again.

“Well thank you,” he said quietly, “for believing in me when others weren't. And for the rent. I don’t know how I can repay you for that.” He kissed her softly. “And I don’t really blame Foggy for writing me off as dead. After a few scares, I don’t think he was surprised that I’d eventually get killed on the job.”

“This has happened before?” she asked. Matt could hear the tone of concern in her voice.

“He found me after Fisk and Nobu attacked me,” he explained, “The ‘car accident’. There was also this time that I got shot in the head by Frank, actually.”

Matt felt Karen’s heartbeat go up drastically. He knew she had a lot of sympathy for Frank Castle. He had a strong suspicion that Frank had never told her about that despite all the time they'd been communicating during his trial.

“He shot you in the head?” she asked, quietly.

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “It was that night that he went after you and Grotto in Metro-General.”

Karen shuddered. That had been a particularly frightening night for her, fleeing with Grotto down a hallway as Frank fired a shotgun at them, then getting shot at as she drove him away. Frank had told her in the hospital that she wasn’t in danger. As sympathetic as Karen had been for Frank, she couldn’t help but think he was bullshitting her with that excuse that she wasn’t in danger. She knew enough about guns to know that Frank could easily have hit her by accident if his aim had been off even a smidge.

“I remember,” Karen whispered.

“It’s only ‘cause I engaged him that he wasn’t able to kill Grotto that night,” he continued, “He was fast. I missed the gun in his ankle holster, and he shot me in the head. I was unconscious for several hours until Foggy found me the next morning. I was wearing my helmet, which is the only reason I’m still here.”

“So when you didn’t show up at the precinct the following day to help us negotiate with Tower and Reyes,” Karen caught on, “That was because you had a concussion.”

“And temporary hearing loss.”

Karen was surprised at how blasé Matt was about being shot by Frank. He described it like it was just another day on the job. She briefly contemplated how exactly things would’ve differed if Matt hadn’t been wearing his  helmet that night and instead had been wearing his old Zorro mask. He’d have died. There was no way she would ever have developed sympathy for Frank if that had been the way that things turned out. _But he survived_ , Karen reminded herself, putting those thoughts out of her head, _and that's all that matters_.

“Well it’s good you had protection,” she said, not fully able to mask her fear, “Where did you even get armor like that?”

Matt bit his lip, trying to decide what he should tell Karen. He had shown her the armor when he first confessed his secret, but he hadn’t told her where he got it. While he trusted Karen enough to keep his secret, he wasn’t convinced that Melvin Potter would’ve been happy to learn that a journalist at one of New York’s biggest newspapers knew who he was and that he had made Daredevil’s armor. Matt respected Melvin’s privacy, and reasoned that the fewer people who knew about Melvin, the less likely that Fisk would find out about his work for Matt. But since he promised to never keep Karen in the dark again…

“There was a guy who worked for Fisk back in the old days,” he settled on, “He used to tailor Fisk’s business suits, giving them this sort of…built-in Kevlar. He agreed to build me a suit from the same material and I helped a friend of his get out of Fisk’s hairs in exchange.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Karen said, “Give him my thanks. You should probably see him again, if you know how to reach him.”

Matt exhaled. “I don't know. He kinda likes his privacy. I do my best to respect that.”

“Well you said he worked for Fisk,” she continued, her mind racing, “Wouldn’t it be wise to check in with him to at least make sure he’s all right? I mean, do you really think Fisk won’t put two and two together about who made your armor?”

“That does seem unlikely,” he conceded. Matt remembered the promise he’d made to Melvin about keeping Betsy safe from Fisk. If Fisk knew Melvin built Matt's suits, Melvin and Betsy would be in a big bind. An idea popped into his head over how they could use this to their advantage. “I’ll… _we_ could use him as a witness; have him go on record with you about the things that he did for Fisk. And I'll defend him in court if the police decide to bring charges. Who knows, maybe I’ll get him to tailor a Kevlar coat for you for no additional price.”

She grinned. “Not that I’ve had my share of near-brushes with death...”

“Yes you have…” Matt smiled as he leaned in and kissed her again. “Let’s get some sleep, then. You said you wanted to start tomorrow fresh and awake.”

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, kissing him one last time before slowly drifting to sleep. Matt followed her into sleep a few minutes later, a smile on his face. Despite all that had happened between him and Karen, they had a bond, built on their mutual desire to stop injustices. Would reuniting to stop Fisk again be enough to re-strengthen that bond? He would have to wait until morning to find out.

* * *

**The Presidential Hotel, 455 Madison Avenue:**

With the Albanians having been dealt with by Dex, the remaining FBI personnel split into two groups. One group was tasked with escorting the wounded agents to Riverbank Medical Center, while another group, led by Nadeem, Dex, and Arinori, escorted Fisk the rest of the way to the Presidential Hotel, accompanied by several NYPD squad cars. They decided to unload Fisk inside the courtyard, out of sight from the street.

“Let’s move, let’s move!” Nadeem shouted to the agents who had been position int the courtyard to receive them, as Fisk exited the bullet-riddled SUV.

“I need to make a call!” Fisk barked. Despite the immediate threat to his life, what mattered most to him at the point in time was that the Albanians weren’t targeting Vanessa. As long as she was okay, he couldn't care less what happened to himself.

“Lobby's secure,” Dex addressed Nadeem. “Let’s get straight to the nest! Move!”

The armada of FBI agents, comprised of Nadeem, Dex, Markham, and Waller, paraded Fisk through the hotel’s lobby, vacant at this time of night, and guarded by more agents. As they led their prisoner up the stairs to the second floor of the lobby, Fisk processed the chatter going on around him.

“SAC's inbound.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Ambush. They were everywhere.”

“Do you have status on anyone?” Nadeem asked Markham.

“We’ve got two agents in surgery now,” Markham replied.

“We lost five for this shitbag," Dex growled.

As they passed through the bar on the second floor, Fisk saw his lawyers waiting there. He'd given them a heads up right before the convoy had departed from Rikers so they’d be there in preparation for his arrival. Fisk had been maintaining constant contact with them for the past few days regarding Vanessa’s safety. This would be the only chance he’d have to direct them to start looking into her whereabouts.

“Donovan!” he hollered.

“Stay back,” Dex addressed the lawyers, who tried to approach their client, but were held back by another agent.

“We're his attorneys,” Lee replied.

“Congratulations. Stay back,” Dex snarked, not even looking at them.

“Locate Vanessa!” Fisk addressed his lawyers, “The Albanians, they tried to get me. They'll go for her, too!”

“My client is not implying that he knows how to reach a wanted fugitive,” Donovan addressed the agents, who didn’t bother to stop and hear him out.

“And make sure she's SAFE!” Fisk exclaimed. He didn’t know what he would do if Vanessa died. He figured it would be on him, since the Albanians wouldn't be after her if he hadn't snitched on them.

A few moments later, Dex, Nadeem and Arinori escorted Fisk into the elevator that went to the penthouse on the 53rd floor. When they got there, it was as Fisk expected. There was a single walk-through metal detector in the hallway that all visitors had to go through to make sure they weren’t sneaking in weapons. To the left, just past the metal detector, was a room that was being used as a base for the FBI agents assigned to guard duty, working three nine hour shifts with an hour transition period. At the end of the hall was a pair of double doors that led to the main penthouse.

One of the agents gave the party of new arrivals a double take, concerned for their injuries.

“We're good,” Nadeem told the agent, “Get the medic.”

“He's fine,” Dex replied, thinking that Nadeem was referring to Fisk’s nosebleed and not the fresh cut on his forehead.

“For me, not him,” Nadeem clarified.

“Copy that," Dex said, "Shitbag's all yours.”

Dex prepared to break away and exit to the FBI surveillance room, but Nadeem grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Dex,” Nadeem addressed his colleague quietly, “Check in with the SAC.”

“We're down too many agents! The debrief can wait!” Dex protested. Deep down, he knew Nadeem was reminding him that he'd have to write up a report about the shootings, and have a session with the shrink, but he had more pressing concerns than that.  _We need to make sure the hotel is secure._ He could hold off on the debrief until the next morning.

“You know the deal.” Nadeem used a tone that indicated he was in no mood for arguing. “Just follow the protocol and get back here ASAP.”

Fisk watched as the rookie SWAT officer disappeared into the surveillance room. For all that had unfolded, he was very intrigued by Dex’s skills. He’d never seen anything like what Dex had just done. He’d performed trick shots that even some of the most famous Army snipers in the world couldn’t possibly pull off, taking down all of the Albanian assassins with cold and calculated precision. Perhaps there would be something to gain if he got to know Dex better. He made a mental note to keep an eye on this agent for the next few days.

His attention was drawn back to Nadeem, who, along with Arinori, escorted him the rest of the way down the hall and into the penthouse. As Fisk was expecting, the interior of the penthouse was very stark and bland. The walls were off-white, and there was absolutely no furniture in the living room save for a single table and chair. _This place could certainly use some furniture to liven it up, once my lawyers are able to do a little more negotiating with Nadeem_ , he thought. The possessions from his last penthouse down in Chelsea had been seized by the government when he was arrested, and he'd made sure that his lawyers fought to ensure it would all be returned to him once his conviction was overturned. They had warned that the "Rabbit in a Snowstorm" painting would be more difficult to re-obtain, as it had apparently fallen into the hands of a wealthy socialite named Esther Farb. But they assured him they were in the process of opening negotiations with her and her lawyers.

“You will be confined to these quarters,” Nadeem said, walking around the empty living room, “You will be monitored at all times. You are allowed no outside contact other than your lawyers. Armed guards will be stationed outside 24/7.” He stepped back over to Fisk and removed his handcuffs. “You'll be safe here.”

“Safe,” Fisk repeated, a tone of bitterness in his voice, “You nearly had me killed.”

Nadeem was in no mood to deal with Fisk’s flippant attitude towards the five dead agents. He firmly gripped Fisk’s right shoulder and got into his face.

“Good men died tonight!” he growled, clenching his teeth, “You _will_ make their sacrifice worth something. Or you can shove our deal up your ass.”

With it looking like Fisk understood the message, Nadeem backed down and headed for the doors. He urgently needed treatment for the cut on his forehead he’d sustained when their car had flipped over during the ambush, temporarily knocking him out.

Fisk made his way upstairs to the second floor bedroom, taking in his surroundings. It had been a very hectic past 24 hours. Between the shanking he’d paid Jasper Evans to administer to him, directing his people to have Jasper quietly released and cook the books to make it seem like he was in solitary, and the Albanians’ attack on him, and throughout this all, freaking out internally about Vanessa’s safety, all he really wanted to do was take a nice hot shower.

He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, feeling every bruise he’d acquired from the ambush and the lingering effects of Jasper’s stab wound (which still stung despite the bandages). The hot water was very therapeutic, and he couldn’t resist staying in the shower for longer than was optimal. As Fisk let the water run over his body, he thought about what he considered to be the three most important tasks on hand. The first one was obvious: he needed to be ensured Vanessa’s safe passage back into the United States. Already, part of that had been handled per the terms of his agreement with Nadeem, but that didn't mean she wasn't out of the woods yet as the Albanians could still target her for revenge by proxy; Fisk was planning to send for her once the threat had been handled. Once she came back to the city, he planned to marry her in a very public ceremony. The wedding would serve the additional purpose of furthering the narrative Fisk was painting for himself of a businessman wrongly convicted by a justice system that took the false words of a masked vigilante. He’d gone so far as to arrange the purchase of a large assortment of white three-piece suits, which would nicely reflect his intended image of being a changed man, given peoples’ tendency to associate white with innocence.

In order to cement himself as New York City's undisputed kingpin of crime, with Vanessa as his queen, Fisk needed to get his empire rebuilt. That one, was something he’d gotten well underway while he was inside. With his takeover of Dutton’s prison ring, Fisk had access to a lot of potentially useful new allies and associates who could enforce his regime, and new business partners he could use to spread his influence. He thought of this like a long game of chess. His lawyers had made sure that no one would realize that the hotel was secretly owned by its prisoner. They had also been keeping a tab on his outside assets, working with Felix Manning and Stewart Finney to move the money he’d made from his dealings with Confederated Global, Silver & Brent and other former fronts, into Red Lion Bank. His people at Red Lion were then divesting the money into a bunch of perfectly legitimate business deals in Hell’s Kitchen as well as a bunch of shell companies, including Vancorp, the one Fisk had used to buy the hotel. 

Provided everything went according to plan, Fisk would soon have all the major players from every one of the Five Boroughs--and more specifically those who had corrupt cops and politicians in their pockets--paying tribute to him, having to give him a cut of their profits in exchange for him providing them his full support and protection from government prosecution. In the coming days, he was planning to send his men to parlay with the bosses of these other underworld factions, the names of whom he’d gleaned thanks to Donovan’s other criminal connections. Fisk was certain that he could make them an offer of protection that they couldn't refuse. And with so many officials in the FBI wrapped around his thumb, including the head of his detail, Fisk could use his informant status as a means of demonstrating his wrath on the more wary bosses. They would have three options: they could choose to pay the protection tax, take their chances with the FBI, or relocate to New Jersey or Connecticut.

Among the prospective clients was Rosalie Carbone, daughter to one of Rigoletto's business partners whom Fisk had had killed five years ago. Felix was scheduled to have a meeting with her on Wednesday night to strike the first of these deals. Another was Lindsey Costa, head of the Costa crime syndicate in Brooklyn, who had taken the reins from her father Frank Costa after his murder around the same time as Julius Carbone. Costa had valuable connections that Fisk wanted to get his hands on, having all the important cops, prosecutors and judges of Brooklyn on her payroll, and extorting criminals in the same way Fisk was planning to. Other names on the list included John Hammer, who ran a drug trafficking ring up and down the Eastern Seaboard; Sophia Carter, head of a loansharking and sports-betting racket based out of the East Village; Latimer Zyl, head of the Kosher Nostra group in Lower Manhattan and Northern Brooklyn; Everett Starr, who ran a smuggling ring based out of Queens; and Anibal Izqueda, head of a Puerto-Rican gang in Spanish Harlem.

Fisk was certain that almost all of them would pay, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary with too many of them for him to show off the power of his connections. He had known that the underworld on the outside had undergone some major shakeups in the last few months, in no small part because of all the new gifted vigilantes who had popped up, enough that these gangs were under extra police scrutiny and likely more inclined to pay the tax.

Really, it couldn’t have been a more perfect time for Fisk to be locked up. Three months ago, Midland Circle had been blown up by a group of gifted individuals that had been described by Trish Walker on _Trish Talk_ as “the Defenders of our city”: Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Danny Rand. Fisk leapt with joy when he heard of Midland Circle’s destruction. It seemed a very appropriate ending for Madame Gao and for the people who Nobu spoke for, especially after the former had conspired with Owlsley to poison Vanessa, and the latter had gotten on his and Wesley’s nerves for making unrealistic demands of him. Making things sweeter for Fisk was that Daredevil, the masked vigilante responsible for putting him away, had reportedly been killed in the collapse. So the Devil wouldn’t be around to get in the way of Fisk’s plans to make Hell’s Kitchen great again. Speaking of Daredevil, Fisk had made a mental note to himself that he ought to have some men do a tune-up on Melvin Potter and soon; he’d recognized Potter’s handiwork in Daredevil’s red costume. And Melvin Potter needed to learn that aiding and abetting one of Fisk’s enemies came with a very steep price tag that didn't have a dollar value on it.

The collapse of Midland Circle had been just the beginning of the new chapter in New York’s underworld that Fisk planned to cap off with his resurgence on top, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.  On top of the vacant real estate, it left a vacuum for him to capitalize on. At least half a dozen gangs had invaded Hell’s Kitchen, rushing to fill the void left by the Triads, Yakuza, the Dogs of Hell, Kitchen Irish and Mexican cartel, among other fallen gangs. They were all mostly small-time and not well organized (often groups of about a dozen or so men), but they smelled blood. They were the most vulnerable and easy to subjugate. All it was going to take to get them to pay Fisk's new tax was sending them a guy with an offer they couldn't refuse, as they were the ones the NYPD was spending most of their time cracking down on in the absence of big-name mob players. So far, Fisk had already made moves to retake the docks, giving him control over the guns and drugs that were flowing to street criminals.  But finishing getting the Hell's Kitchen gangs to pay him tribute, that would take some delicate measures to avoid tipping his hands. But in the end, it'd allow him to exert the same kind of stronghold on Hell's Kitchen that Rigoletto had shown back when Wilson was first making his bones. And more importantly, allow him to have such a wide reach without much in the way of documentation or paper trails to trace back to him.

Since Midland Circle, Fisk had additionally made plans to take advantage of misfortunes that had befallen organized crime in other parts of the city. Just a month after Midland Circle's destruction, the Stokes-Dillard Gang, who had controlled all the guns that moved through Harlem for the last 40 years, were wiped out in a bloody turf war with the Brooklyn-based Stylers. Fisk had shown some admiration for the Stylers’ leader Bushmaster, even if he was very squeamish regarding Bushmaster’s idea of decapitating people and putting their heads on pikes in public. The war had ended with the death of the last Stokes boss, Councilwoman Mariah Dillard, while she was awaiting trial in Rikers for shooting up a Jamaican restaurant and burning a man alive (it hadn’t taken much for Fisk to convince Donovan to transfer all of Mariah's criminal and political connections over to him), while Bushmaster had fled the country to avoid trial. With the Stokeses and the Stylers out of the way, Harlem was effectively under the control of Luke Cage, who had assumed control of the family’s former nightclub and turned it into a base of operations, and he had forced many of Harlem’s smaller crews to take their business elsewhere, including Hell's Kitchen, which had seen a resurgence in street crime as a result with many of the gangs Fisk was planning to tax.

A month after Mariah’s downfall, and a month before Fisk saw the time to put his cards with Nadeem into play,  another gang war had broken out in Gao’s old turf of Chinatown between two Triad groups, the Golden Tigers and the Yangshi-Gonshi. A serial killer also appeared in the neighborhood during this time, an Indian man with two glowing red fists who called himself Davos. He caused havoc amongst both sides of the Triad war, killing the heads of both organizations as well as many of their subordinates, and a bunch of innocent people. He even had recruited a bunch of teenage kids to further his agenda. This continued until the two organizations were convinced by Danny Rand and Colleen Wing to make a peace treaty to stop him. Davos was later arrested and was now locked up in the Tombs awaiting transfer to a secure facility upstate. Even with the peace treaty, the Yangshi-Gonshi and Golden Tigers' manpower had been severely crippled by Davos’ attacks on them, and the bloodshed had made them the subject of more intense police scrutiny. They’d both desperately need Fisk’s protection if they wanted a chance to regroup themselves.

Fisk was very happy with all this bloodshed, because he hadn’t had to move a single pawn of his own. It also left a lot of vacuums for him to step into. But in order for these plans to go into motion, he’d have to get rid of the opposition. There was plenty of that. Some of it was easier and some of it was harder. Six months earlier, he'd acquired the Presidential Hotel by buying it from Rostam Kazemi using a shell company, Vancorp. Just last week, when the real estate mogul made an attempt to repurchase the hotel from Fisk, Fisk ensured that that wouldn't happen by having Felix send out some enforcers to attack Kazemi. They'd not been able to kidnap him and deliver him to Felix, as they got beaten up by an unknown masked assailant who happened upon the scene (according to the report they'd handed to Felix), but they had managed to put him in a coma, ensuring that the message was received nonetheless. However, as far as Fisk was concerned, Rostam Kazemi was just a minor inconvenience, compared to what he considered the three biggest threats: the three members of the former law firm of Nelson & Murdock, the ones who had locked him up.

First to go would be Matt Murdock. Murdock had made a big mistake in choosing to use Vanessa to threaten Fisk when he’d come by the prison a year ago. And while he had no proof of it, Fisk had the slight suspicion that Murdock may have made good on his threats and had tipped off the Feds about Vanessa’s complacency. He was going to pay dearly if that turned out to be true.

The second to go would be Murdock’s best friend and former law partner, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson. Since Nelson & Murdock’s breakup, Nelson had joined the firm of Hogarth Chao & Benowitz, later Jeri Hogarth & Associates, alongside his girlfriend Marci Stahl. Nelson had no idea that Fisk had secretly managed to gain leverage over his family that would go into play if he went too far. It had cost a lot of overhead, but Fisk had taken a lot of delight in directing the shop's suppliers to drop their contracts with Nelson’s Meats, then directing the banks to refuse them a loan, and directing Stewart Finney at Red Lion to coach Nelson’s brother and parents into committing fraud. The number of palms that Felix Manning greased to make this possible had earned him a lot of respect from Fisk, to the point that Fisk  considered Felix to be a very worthy replacement for Wesley. And Marci Stahl? Well, Fisk knew that she'd unwittingly assisted with some of the illegal business he conducted through Landman & Zack. However, Donovan's digging had reported that Marci would be impossible to go after, as she'd publicly denounced Landman & Zack and gotten a sweet immunity deal that was impenetrable. Fisk considered her to be a pawn they would use as a last resort if the plans with Nelson's Meats didn't work out.

And third, there was the journalist. Karen Page. Fisk wondered if he should’ve taken Wesley’s suggestion that Karen be killed after she’d worked with Daredevil to blow open the money laundering he’d been doing at Union Allied, like he'd done with George Rance, Clyde Farnum, Eddie McClintock, and Daniel Fisher. He'd directed Wesley at the time to leave her alone, figuring she'd done enough damage already, and the death of an attractive young woman like her would draw scrutiny to his business that he couldn't afford. Since then, Karen Page had become a highly respected journalist for the _New York Bulletin_ and she had proven she was going to be a real threat; she was dogged, determined, and had no self-preservation instincts of any kind. This was made perfectly clear in an incident two weeks after Midland Circle, in which she talked back to a mad bomber on the radio and called him a coward. Said bomber later came after her in a hotel and was ultimately disposed of by the Punisher. If she ever wrote anything damning about Fisk, well, Fisk had a strategy all lined up for that. Felix had hired a team of talented private investigators willing to dig up dirt on Karen’s past (they were good, but Felix was disappointed that he'd been unable to recruit Jessica Jones for his team; Jessica refused to work for him because, as she put it, "I don't take cases for rich British assholes who are involved in shady shit").

Felix's crack team dug up a treasure trove of information about Karen Page. She was born in Fagan Corners, Vermont in 1985 to Paxton and Penelope Page, owners of a local diner. She had a younger brother named Kevin, born in 1987. In 2003, when Karen was 18, her mother died of cancer. In 2004, when she was 19, her brother died in a car accident. The gossip around Fagan Corners was that she had killed her brother and the sheriff falsified the accident report (something they'd found out by sending a guy to interview Paxton Page posing as a reporter for a local paper, while a few other guys arranged an accident for the now-retired sheriff). She’d left town not too long after that, and dropped off the radar until 11 years later when the Union Allied scandal broke. And she wasn't on speaking terms with her dad at all. The information dug up by Felix's sleuths had also reported that Karen used to be a drug addict, who rode around with a guy named Todd Neiman, who she shot in the arm the same night that her brother died (they'd also killed him after getting everything they wanted out of him). That would certainly be enough to tarnish any reporter’s reputation. It would make people question her credibility and dismiss anything she said about Fisk, if things got to that point. She also had a strong association with Daredevil, given that in addition to the matter with Rance, Daredevil had also rescued her from a bizarre hostage situation in which Nobu's people kidnapped a bunch of people he had saved. That could also be used against her in conjunction with the dirt on her past. 

The three members of what used to be Nelson & Murdock were all thorns that would pose a problem for Fisk when they got word that he was out. There was another issue he wanted to have resolved, and that was to find the mysterious individual who killed James Wesley. Fisk hadn't been able to find the man who had killed his best friend of 15 years, on account of his being arrested not too long after Wesley's body turned up. Wesley had meant everything to Fisk. He was always prepared and was there to iron out the details of Fisk's proposals. He insulated Fisk from the street by acting as a mouthpiece to give orders to enforcers. He was a skilled diplomat, able to resolve disputes between Fisk and his allies with minimal bloodshed.  And most of all, he knew Fisk better than Fisk knew himself. Fisk had realized that when Wesley had brought Vanessa over to his last penthouse to comfort him after Madame Gao intimidated him. So it was no surprise that Fisk was very livid when he found Wesley dead in a warehouse, shot seven times. He had briefly suspected that Owlsley had killed Wesley because Wesley found out that Owlsley was stealing from Fisk, but Owlsley had denied that. Madame Gao's abrupt departure from town around that time had also given Fisk enough reason to suspect that she could've been the one to shoot him, but there was no proof. The fact the last call Wesley had ever received was from Fisk's mother led him to briefly suspect Ben Urich was the one who did it, especially after Fisk's mole at the  _Bulletin_ tipped him off. But Fisk was good at reading people, and Ben Urich didn't strike him as the kind of person who could shoot a man like Wesley, and seven times to boot (even with all the stories Ben had pursued on the Mafia, including the people who had recruited Fisk).  With no leads that went anywhere, the investigation into Wesley's death just died out. But Fisk hadn't forgotten about Wesley, and while in prison, he made a vow that when he found Wesley's killer, he would personally choke him or her to death with his bare hands.

Fisk was so preoccupied with his thoughts about how busy the next few weeks would be, rebuilding his empire and discrediting the opposition, that he was startled by Agent Arinori entering the bathroom.

“Hey, convict! Your lawyers are here,” Arinori said. _Well, this better be good news,_ Fisk thought, as he shut off the water. Donovan and Lee must have gotten word about Vanessa’s whereabouts. If that was the case, he’d sleep easily tonight, knowing he could focus entirely on his business.

Fisk opened the glass partition to find Arinori there, holding a towel.

“Get dry,” Arinori tossed the towel to him, “And get dressed.”

Fisk quickly dried himself off and changed into the limited attire he’d have until his furnishings and suits were delivered: a blue button-up shirt, blue pants (not jeans), and white shoes. He then exited the bedroom and headed downstairs, where Donovan and Lee were waiting in the living room with a few agents.

“Did you reach her?” Fisk asked.

“I need these cameras shut off and a moment with my client,” Donovan said to a female agent standing nearby, who relayed instructions into her radio.

“Forget about the cameras,” Fisk spoke up. This wasn’t a matter that he felt necessitated the cameras being killed. There was nothing regarded legal strategy being discussed, and it would only be a few minutes anyways. “Is Vanessa safe?”

“We don't know,” Donovan said, “She's missing.”

 _No no no._ Fisk didn’t believe much in God, but he knew that this could mean one of two things: either the Albanians had gotten to Vanessa, or Vanessa was being relocated to a new location. Hopefully it was the latter.  “What do you mean, missing?” he asked.

“Felix has been trying to get in contact with Francis,” Lee said, referring to the head of Vanessa's security detail, “He’s not answering any calls.”

Was that normal for Francis to ignore calls like that? Fisk didn’t think it was. He was a very reliable bodyguard. Hell, he'd been handpicked by Wesley, and Wesley had for the most part been pretty good at finding the best hires for his employer's staff. “Contact Felix, and tell him to try again. They cannot have just vanished like that!”

"Understood, Mr. Fisk," Donovan nodded. He and Lee exited the penthouse as Fisk prepared for what would be a very long and restless night, with no Vanessa and no "Rabbit in a Snowstorm" to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming that there were a few time skips of a couple days during episode 1. For reference, Karen and Foggy's scene in Matt's apartment was around the first full week in January 2018. Karen moved into Matt's apartment a week after that (in this timeline). The scenes with Nadeem's meeting with Fisk happened during the Wednesday after Martin Luther King Day. It took a little over a week for Fisk's intel on the Albanians to be processed and warrants be written up. The Kazemi attack happened on the night of Sunday, February 4th. The events of episode 2, from Fisk's arranged shanking at the hands of Jasper Evans up until the Albanians' motorcade attack, happened on February 5th, a Monday. Which is when this story picks up.


	3. Strategy Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen deal with the aftermath of their first night back together, and discuss a strategy for pursuing Fisk.

**Tuesday, February 6th:**

Karen stirred and grinned like a canary, having just endured the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages. She felt very warm and fuzzy and...spent. She was still half-asleep as she began to remember the events of the last few hours before she’d gone to sleep. Having dinner with Ellison’s family, Ellison attempting to set her up with his nephew, the phone call Brett had given her about Wilson Fisk being let out, returning home on the subway, learning Matt was alive and well, Matt asking her for her help in bringing down Fisk, one thing leading to another, and that escalating to them having sex.

At this, Karen felt a jolt of arousal run through her body as she remembered their lovemaking _. Matt Murdock had made love to her._ And with his enhanced senses, he managed to make it more amazing than any other man she’d ever slept with. She murmured a bit, recounting how unrestrained yet gentle he'd been. How he paid attention as he touched, stroked, kissed, and caressed every sensitive part of her body, until she climaxed with the strongest orgasms she'd ever endured and her understanding of language was reduced to moaning his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Him subsequently moving within her, riding her, the wide grin on his face after he came inside of her. Them cuddling afterwards and drifting off to sleep…

She rolled sideways, opening her eyes and seeing Matt lying next to her, still sound asleep. He seemed very gorgeous in this state. Karen wondered if this was how he slept normally. She couldn’t resist the urge to reach out with one of her hands to run her fingers over his face, feeling his perma stubble, just to be sure she wasn't dreaming. It wasn’t long before he began to stir as well. He instinctively pulled her against his body, not wanting to end the moment. She felt her heart skip a beat as he smiled.

Matt smiled, taking in the sounds of Hell's Kitchen outside. He could hear the horns of taxis on Ninth Avenue. The rumbling of an Amtrak train headed through the tunnel underneath the block. Above all that, he could hear and feel a very distinct warm body being held in his arms. _Karen._ Aside from the whole thing about learning that Fisk had gotten out, last night was amazing, beyond just the sex.  It felt unusually…exhilarating. Like, he felt something between him and Karen that he'd never had with any other woman, not even Elektra. He couldn't find the word to describe it. Was it love? He leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead. She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.

"Good morning,” she said quietly. Before Matt could stop himself, he pulled her firmly against his body, kissing her on the lips. Karen gasped at his sudden grip on her but couldn’t help but lean in, running her fingers through his mussed up hair. Matt responded by deepening the kiss, to the point that Karen briefly wondered if he was going to roll on top of her for another round of lovemaking. But he didn’t. They spent the next few minutes there lying in bed, kissing and caressing one another, unwilling to leave the silk cocoon, as much as they knew they had to set out to bring in Fisk. Eventually they were both grinning so hard that they had to pull away from one another. They leaned their foreheads against one another as they waited for their breathing to slow.

“I’ll make some breakfast,” Matt abruptly said after a few minutes.

"Mmmm," Karen murmured. He gave her another quick kiss on the mouth before crawling out of bed. Karen admired the view, her eyes glazed over with desire, as Matt grabbed the dress shirt she’d put on last night and put it on himself, and grabbed a new pair of underwear and a suit and tie. As soon as Matt disappeared into the kitchen, Karen climbed out of bed and began getting dressed herself.

For today, Karen settled on blue jeans, and a matching denim blue button-up blouse. She also pulled her hair back in a ponytail, figuring she’d at least dress professionally as it was a Tuesday. She emerged from the bedroom and was confronted with the smells of coffee, eggs, and bacon, and Matt attending to the stove.

“Eggs and bacon?” he offered.

“Sure,” she said, barely acknowledging him.

Karen sat down at the kitchen table and began sipping at the filled coffee mug Matt had left for her. She opened her phone to check the _New York Bulletin_ app. Despite having learned the news last night, she still felt butterflies in her stomach as she was greeted by a photograph of Fisk, from that press conference he’d held with Vanessa Marianna, James Wesley and Leland Owlsley on the steps of City Hall a few days after Detective Blake was killed. Under the photo was the giant headline **WILSON FISK RELEASED FROM PRISON.** She chose to read the article out loud so that Matt could hear it. **  
**

**WILSON FISK RELEASED FROM PRISON**

By Jennifer Many

 **NEW YORK, NY:** In an unprecedented turn of events, Wilson Fisk, reputed businessman and accused mob boss convicted two years ago in federal court, was released from prison on Sunday night after two years and nine months and transferred to house arrest in the Presidential Hotel in Midtown Manhattan.

Fisk, now 58, was sentenced to life in prison in 2015 after being convicted of five RICO counts on charges of murder, money laundering, racketeering, kidnapping, bribery, human trafficking, terrorism, and extortion. He was arrested after disgraced NYPD detective Carl Hoffman went on record before the FBI alleging that Fisk ordered the bombings of several buildings in Hell’s Kitchen, and also ordered over three dozen murders as part of a criminal enterprise. Additional document leaks also reportedly linked Fisk to various illegal business deals involving post-Incident reconstruction contracts in Hell’s Kitchen, as well as rampant police corruption within the NYPD’s 15th Precinct. While not convicted of it in court, Fisk is also alleged to have been responsible for the murder of veteran _New York Bulletin_ reporter Ben Urich, after Detective Hoffman’s testimony led to the arrest of another _Bulletin_ reporter who was found to have received bribes from Fisk.

FBI sources, who spoke to the _Bulletin_ on condition of anonymity, reported that Fisk had turned state’s witness, and has been transferred for his own wellbeing after being the subject of an assassination attempt on his life. These sources allege that Fisk was targeted by an Albanian syndicate that was dismantled by an FBI task force last week on the information of “a highly placed confidential informant whose contributions have been extremely helpful in purging New York’s streets of crime.”

While being moved from Rikers to a safehouse within the Presidential Hotel in Midtown Manhattan, the motorcade transporting Fisk was reportedly ambushed by several armed gunmen. Five agents were killed and four more wounded before an unidentified agent killed all of the assailants, the identities of whom are unknown. The identities of the deceased agents have not been released, pending notification of their immediate families. Fisk is reportedly confined to a penthouse within the hotel at all times and under 24 hour surveillance and protection by the FBI.

As of press time, the Manhattan District Attorney and US Attorneys’ offices have yet to make any official statements, although aides to District Attorney Blake Tower and U.S. Attorney Chuck Rhodes suggest that report that there is much outrage among the city’s prosecutors. Tower, who is running for reelection this year, will be holding a press conference with NYPD Commissioner Frank Reagan this afternoon at City Hall to discuss the ongoing situation.

* * *

“Well at least you got all the broad strokes of it, Jennifer,” Karen groused. She wasn't that fond of Jennifer Many, who had for Karen's first few months been a pain in her ass, to the point of what was essentially a war as they fought to get their stories on the front page. But she had to admit that Jennifer was a decent reporter and she'd managed to cover all her bases.  setting her phone down as Matt came over to the dining room table with utensils and plates with fresh bacon and eggs.

Karen cut into her eggs and put a forkful of them in her mouth. She was amazed by Matt’s cooking skills.  "Matt, this is...delicious! It's like, you make my dad’s cooking terrible by comparison." Somehow, Karen was amused by the whole concept of Matt being a skilled chef. She couldn’t help but think about the days in Fagan Corners when she helped her dad and brother run their diner. If only her dad could afford to hire someone with Matt’s abilities, maybe Penny’s Place would’ve drawn in more customers and they wouldn’t have been always on the verge of bankruptcy thanks to Paxton’s inability to manage his money. _And maybe I wouldn't have been so stressed that I turned to drugs and Todd for an escape_ , Karen thought, but she didn't want to go to such a dark place internally.

Matt smiled back. His heightened senses really helped out around the kitchen. Karen had never tasted bacon that was just the right amount of doneness for her standards. Not too chewy and not too crispy. Or eggs that had been scrambled to the right level of consistency; not too runny and not to dry.

"I think it's right up there with my virtue-filled lasagna," Karen said, taking another bite. Matt laughed.

 _Thank you,_ Matt thought.

"You cook for every girl you've ever brought home?" Karen asked, curiosity taking over.

Matt laughed, recalling that Claire asked him that exact same question when she'd stayed over, after he rescued her from Veles Taxi. He'd been tempted to sleep with her, but decided against it, feeling she'd regret it when she was in a state of shock. "Just the ones who make me feel alive." He exhaled. "In all seriousness, I don't really cook much for other people. It's not them. It's just that I worry that with my sense of taste, what tastes good for me will be awful for others, and vice-versa. It’s not exactly easy when you can taste the individual ingredients in things.”

“Stick taught you that?” she asked, curiously.

“With ice cream."

“Ice cream?”

Matt made a face. “Well that was his beginner's course.”

Karen took another bite. "Well you can put any anxieties you have to rest," she declared. "Seriously, I feel a bit like I’m back in Vermont actually.” _No disrespect to you, Dad, but you were terrible at cooking, among other things._

Matt laughed softly. “So you approve?”

“Are you kidding me, Matt?” Karen smiled, taking another bite. “If I wrote for the _Bulletin_ ’s food reviews column, I’d probably grant you four Michelin stars.”

They ate in a comfortable silence over the next twenty minutes, making small talk as Karen regaled Matt with some of the stories that she’d written in the _Bulletin_ while he’d been away. Eventually, the talk turned back to Fisk. Karen was curious how exactly Matt was planning to tackle the issue of taking down Fisk beyond the whole part of “they work together”.

“…So let's get down to business on what we sorta talked about last night,” Karen said as they moved back to the couch, “When you talked about us working together to put Fisk back behind bars, did you have a specific strategy in mind? ‘Cause as I see it, we need to come after him using an angle he can’t prepare for. Once he knows we’re poking around, he's going to come after us. But how were you going to do it?"

"I..." Matt grimaced. "It’s only been twelve hours since Fisk got out, Karen. I haven't really had the chance to think about the line of attack.” He took a deep breath as he contemplated his options. From what Karen had read in the _Bulletin_ article, Fisk was in the protective custody of the FBI. So he’d have FBI agents guarding him and they’d probably turn Matt away if he tried approaching as Matt Murdock, and they’d shoot him if he tried approaching as Daredevil. “Obviously, going to that penthouse of his and beating the shit out of him isn't going to work. I still have the scars from when I tried to do that after he killed Mrs. Cardenas. Perhaps I…” He sensed the look Karen was giving him. “… _we_ should go after any known associates of his and get them to talk. Get them to give up evidence or compel them to testify against Fisk.”

Karen nodded. "Yeah. That might work. Except, Fisk is probably expecting that we will go that route."

"Do you have a better idea?" Matt asked, pointedly.

"Well, I don't know if it's better," she shrugged, "But why go after Fisk’s associates when there’s more to gain by hitting Fisk where it really hurts? Last time, it took a while for us to learn who he even was. Now we know. We don't have to wait and see what he does. Let’s go on the offense. Make him react to us. He’ll trip up and eventually make a mistake.”

“To go on the offense with Fisk?” Matt asked. “Even if he's not paying anyone there, he's got the FBI around his thumb. If he sees us coming, what’s to say he won’t send them after us and make our lives a living hell? Are you really sure that that’s the smartest move?”

“Think about it,” Karen countered, “If we go after Fisk at the street level, we'll only get some lieutenants and enforcers, and he’ll just promote new guys to replace them. Go after his inner circle, the ones closest to him that he can't easily replace. Find out where he’s squirreled away his money. I’m sure he has plenty of cash hiding under the FBI’s nose. And we find a witness who is willing to testify. We do that, and Fisk is toast.”

“We tried that, Karen. He still got out,” Matt protested, “Besides, Fisk didn't have much of an inner circle left by the time we caught him. He took out the Russians. The Triads and Yakuza are gone. James Wesley and Leland Owlsley are both dead. And the government seized most of his assets.” He couldn’t help but notice that Karen seemed to instinctively flinch at the mention of Wesley’s name, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. _I’ll ask her about that tonight_ , he thought, filing that into his memory _._

 _Most of his assets. Not “all of his assets,”_ Karen observed. If Fisk still had access to even a fraction of his remaining money, he still could cause a lot of harm. She said, “Jesus, Matt! We've both had enough first-hand experience to know that Fisk knows exactly how to exploit the law, hide behind flunkies, and find loopholes that allow him to do whatever the hell he wants, no matter who gets in his way! Maybe I'm just throwing ideas out there, but I think it’s reasonable to believe that Fisk has been rebuilding things from prison and has been waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

 _Right._ Matt suddenly remembered that Fisk had taken control of the cell block where he was being held, and Fisk had all but confirmed that he had arranged for Frank Castle's escape. He must've used his remaining capital to buy the loyalty of the guards and the inmates, make them so loyal that they'd stand silently outside and did nothing when a prisoner beat the shit out of a seemingly defenseless blind man in front of them.

"That’s possible," Matt acknowledged, "but what are you going to do about it?"

As Karen saw it, Fisk had two sides to him. There was the public philanthropist he painted himself as, and there was the violent and malicious crimelord that he truly was. It was like two sides of a coin. And it reminded her a lot of Matt, and his “lawyer by day / vigilante by night” lifestyle. She also understood, from what Matt and Foggy had told her, that Matt had to be very careful to keep his lives separate since being outed as Daredevil could get him disbarred. Even if it didn't, just accusations would be enough to permanently stain his reputation as a lawyer. If just accusations of being Daredevil could ruin Matt’s professional reputation, couldn’t serious accusations of criminal activity be enough to penetrate the smokescreens Fisk might put up?

“You know something, Matt," she said, "I think you and Fisk are very alike in many ways."

Matt felt his cheeks turn pink. He really didn't like being compared to Fisk.

"I am nothing like Fisk-" he began to say.

"Just...just hear me out," she continued, "You care a lot about being a lawyer, right?" Matt nodded. "And you've been very insistent on making sure to keep your day and your night jobs separated."

"I did it to protect you and Foggy," he insisted.

"So you said. But clearly that didn't keep me safe at all." Matt felt like he'd received a small slap in the face. She was right, he hadn't kept her safe by keeping her in the dark. In withholding his secret from her, she'd ended up getting kidnapped by the Hand, something that probably wouldn't have happened if he'd told her earlier. And he hadn't been able to give her some sort of reasonable explanation of what she'd just walked into on that day Stick let her into his apartment and she'd found Elektra resting in his bed. "At the same time though, I got the impression that you also separated your lives because you were trying to protect your law career."

"I'll give you that much, that is true," Matt conceded. "I don't think that going out and beating up criminals at night is something that the New York Bar Association would look highly upon." Of course, Matt hadn't needed the reminder of that, as Foggy had stressed to him on several occasions how important this was. Including the last conversation he'd had with Foggy, when Foggy brought his Daredevil armor to the 29th Precinct.  _I'm here because I'm trying to help you keep your two lives separate. So that they don't lump you in with Mr. Bulletproof and Super Joan Jett in there!_ "But how does this tie in with Fisk?"

"Fisk lives a double life, too, or at least he used to until we exposed him. Do you think he cares as much about being a profitable crimelord as he does about being seen as a totally legitimate businessman?” Karen asked. Matt looked at her inquisitively. “When he went public, he was painting himself like he was Bobby Axelrod, as the poor little fat kid from working class Hell’s Kitchen who went from rags to riches. Given his wealth, I’m betting he does business with a lot of other rich and powerful people, beyond the ones that Hoffman and Marci gave up. There's probably truckloads of money he's donated through under-the-table endorsements to charity fundraisers, political campaigns, and development projects, that kinda stuff. He's probably going to do everything to maintain those connections."

"Oh, yes," Matt nodded. "You can do a lot when you have money to throw around.” He’d understood how influential money could be in buying your way out of justice even before Fisk came along. He’d read a bit about the “affluenza” case that had happened in Texas back in the summer of 2013, of a drunken rich teen who got into a wreck that killed an entire family, and got sentenced to some classy rehab center rather than prison. The case had drawn plenty of public debate.

“But there’s one thing money can’t control, and that’s the free press,” Karen said. In a flirtatious voice, she added, “Especially a journalist who is also morally flexible, one willing to run towards danger with no self-preservation, one who just had awesome sex with a masked superhero she wrote articles about.” She put a hand on his heart and ran her fingers down his chest. She couldn't help but burst out in uncontrollable giggling.

Matt quickly joined in giggling at Karen’s very apt description of herself. “Sounds like someone I shouldn’t reckon with, Miss Page.”

“My point is, Matt,” Karen reverted back to her serious voice, “Besides going after his inner circle, how much do you think it would hurt Fisk if, say, I wrote a scathing editorial about just how far he's willing to go to get what he wants? Or what he does to business partners who he no longer has use for? Detective Hoffman was far from the only person Fisk ever bribed or intimidated into doing things for him."  _There was Farnum, that guard who tried to kill me in my cell, but he's dead. And the way Wesley threatened you and Foggy, I'm convinced that shakedowns are Fisk's way of getting people to work for him._ "I’m betting such an editorial, with interviews from the right sources, and witnesses, we could put him back in prison. And if not, at the very least it will make people look at him suspiciously and be reluctant to conduct business with him. Those accusations, that's what will get written and what people will talk about behind his back. For the next year. The next five years. For the rest of his life."

"You speak about this like you have experience," Matt replied.

Karen paused, realizing  that the theoretical scenario she was proposing for exposing Fisk sounded very reminiscent  of the way she'd described her brother's death to Neda the previous day at the hospital.

"Karen?" Matt asked, softly. He could sense her sudden bout of anxiety.

"Sorry," Karen realized he was talking to her and exhaled, "Just..." she took another breath. Was this the right time to open up to Matt about her brother's death? She knew she probably should tell him. It hadn't taken Ben much effort to find out about Kevin's death, it wouldn't have been too hard for Fisk to find it if he dug hard enough. And if she and Matt were to make their relationship work again, they needed to be truthful and open with one another. And she should also tell him about Wesley. _I'll tell him about both tonight._ For the meanwhile, she would just stick to the barebones minimum and not sidetrack their strategy talk about Fisk. She gulped, and then continued, "You know you're not the only one here with secrets, Matt."

"I know," he murmured.

"Look I'd rather not talk about the details now," Karen looked down at her hands and fidgeted, "But when my brother died, everyone wanted to know what happened. And we lived in a small town, so stuff kinda gets around on its own."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Fact of the matter is that...it was just awful all around, and..." her breath hitched, "...some nasty rumors started to spread about my family and I just had to leave town for good. Make a fresh start."

"Karen..." Matt put a hand on her shoulder. "You can talk to me."

Karen looked up at him, blinking away the tears. "How about tonight? Once we've gotten a bit of a start on Fisk."

Matt contemplated. Clearly, whatever had happened to Karen regarding her brother's death was not something he should pry out of her. He should let her tell him  on her own terms.

Karen grabbed a tissue and blew the snot out of her nose. "So, where was I again?" she asked.

"You were talking about running an article publicly accusing Fisk of criminal activities."

"Right," she nodded, setting the tissue down.

"You do realize that you'll need evidence and witnesses for that to work,” Matt started.

“I know that. But the thing about allegations in print, especially when backed up by evidence, is that they stick,” Karen said, a faint smile forming on her face. "Look, we got Union Allied exposed that way. What's to say we can't do that again?" _  
_

“Fisk will find ways to discredit the people you talk to, if not you yourself," Matt insisted. "And...he tried to kill you twice, Karen!"

 _If he tries to discredit me, Ellison will step in and defend me to his dying breath._ "I know that! But think about it," Karen was getting pretty persistent, "We get out ahead of Fisk, we can catch him off guard, provoke him into making a mistake, make it so he can't bury any of this shit! Like any bank accounts of his that have slipped past the FBI, any inmates in the prison who he's been paying to do his bidding...”  _Hey, that seems like a good starting point,_ Karen realized. Guys like Fisk, they had ways of maintaining their power even from prison, usually through intermediaries.  "Y'know, even from prison, Fisk presumably still had people on the outside who were loyal to him. And with the Hand gone, there's a lot of territory in Hell’s Kitchen ripe for other gangs to take over. Fisk has to have already opened discussions with them by now.”

 _He probably already has._ While Matt wasn’t 100% aware of what Fisk had done to gain control of Riker's, he was certain that the other Hell’s Kitchen gangs had members housed alongside Fisk who could relay his messages. And if not them, then Fisk probably was using that lawyer of his, Benjamin Donovan, as an intermediary.

 _Donovan_. The slick mob lawyer that had been Fisk’s gate guard ever since James Wesley died. Matt grimaced as he remembered the interaction he had with Donovan when he’d visited Fisk at the prison. He remembered the smug attitude that Donovan expressed as he made Matt sign a very strict NDA. The way Donovan stood outside and did nothing as his client pummeled Matt.

_“You will not come into physical contact with Mr. Fisk. You will not discuss your conversation with Mr. Fisk with any media outlet, government entity, law enforcement agency, or outside party of any kind. Failure to do so will result in severe financial penalties, detailed there. You will refer to Mr. Fisk only as ‘Mr. Fisk,’ and he will not answer any questions until I personally approve of them first.”_

_“That's a lot of rules.”_

_“Rules are what separate us from the animals on the inside, Mr. Murdock.”_

The more Matt thought about it, he realized that there was something else that was confusing about the whole situation. The _Bulletin_ article said that Fisk had turned informant against the Albanians. That didn’t exactly gel with what he knew about Fisk. Yes, Fisk was very manipulative. Matt remembered how Fisk pitted him against the Russians by blaming him for Anatoly's death, so that the Russians would be preoccupied while Fisk made plans to blow up all of their bases. He also remembered from after his duel with Nobu, overhearing Fisk talking with Wesley and suggesting that they'd manipulated Matt and Nobu into taking one another out because Fisk didn't want to continue working with the various members of the Hand who were using his connections to build Midland Circle. But snitching? That didn't fit Fisk's M.O. as far as Matt could tell. Unless, of course, there was a pretty good damn reason for it. And Donovan, being one of Fisk’s sleazy sharks, probably was the person who negotiated the informant deal with the FBI, and knew all about the inner workings of it.

“You’re thinking of something?” Karen asked, hopefully.

“Basic tenet of law and war,” Matt said, recalling what he'd said to Karen and Foggy when they were trying to link Elena Cardenas's case with Westmeyer Holt back to Fisk, “Know your enemy.”

Karen rolled her eyes. “Oh god, that Sun Tzu quote again?”

“Let's start with the Albanians,” Matt said, "As the article said, last week, the FBI busted them thanks to Fisk becoming an informant for them.”

"I wrote about them, actually," Karen said. She had been tasked by Ellison with interviewing US Attorney Rhodes and covering the previous Friday's arraignment hearing for the Albanian boss Nikolai “Mother Teresa” Petrov, plus his top lieutenants, a few of the various politicians in his pocket, and others. It had been a small boost to get her out of her Matt-less funk before the Kazemi story happened.  “It was particularly high profile bust, actually. These guys were very violent and very connected. They had at least two judges, a police captain at the 12th Precinct, and a deputy mayor.”

“What sorts of crimes are we talking about?” 

“We’re talking about shit that makes Fisk look like a very peaceful person honestly.”  _As peaceful as a man who decapitated Anatoly Ranskahov with a car door can be._ Karen shuddered as she recounted the charges they were ultimately indicted on. “At least four dead cops, with 12 more now riding desks with permanent disabilities. They also had over 107+ civilian murders to their names. Mostly people in the wrong place at the wrong time. And countless other racketeering and conspiracy charges.” 

“Jesus, Karen…”

“I got an interview with the US Attorney,” Karen said. “According to him, they’ve been trying to bring these guys down for the past seven years. But they've never gotten far, not even with five full-size task forces which cost the taxpayers about $11 million in funds. The problem was that they lacked was someone who was willing to speak about the inner workings of the organization without getting his head blown clean off. With this confidential informant, who Rhodes did not name when I talked to him, but who we all now know is Wilson Fisk, they were able to cut off the serpent's head within the span of a day.”

“It just doesn’t make sense, though,” Matt scoffed. “Because I know Fisk. He pitted me and the Russians against one another when things were falling apart between him, Anatoly and Vladimir. And the same went when he cut ties with Nobu and Madame Gao. And he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would just become an informant for the FBI, unless he had a reason for doing so.”

“You think Fisk has an ulterior motive on hand?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Matt nodded, “Maybe he wants their territory so he can expand out of Hell’s Kitchen. Or it could be something worse.”

“I doubt we'll get anyone in the FBI to confirm anything about the exact specifics of Fisk’s deal, though,” Karen said, “Believe me.” Federal agents had more of a spine when it came to the tough questions that Karen tended to ask. That had been the biggest takeaway she had from her various interactions with Dinah Madani when the DHS had been pursuing Frank.

“You got Fisk’s mom to reveal that he killed his father,” Matt pointed out.

“A senile old woman is not the same thing as a trained law enforcement officer,” Karen protested.

“If no one at the FBI wants to talk, I can think of one person who knows all the details of Fisk’s informant deal.”

“Who?”

Matt took a deep breath. “Fisk is under house arrest,” he said, “That means his physical movements are restricted, as he’s probably got a tracking monitor on him at all times. And, all of his communications are likely being monitored with one exception: his lawyers."

Karen brightened, as she immediately realized who Matt was talking about. “Benjamin Donovan,” she said out loud. “That slick shyster of his?”

 _No doubt, I can speak to my personal meeting with him._ “Someone has to relay orders from Fisk to his underlings," Matt stated, "And with Wesley dead, and Fisk under house arrest, Donovan's likely acquired many of Wesley's old duties." He heard Karen flinch at the mention of Wesley's name again. _Why is Karen reacting like that every time I mention James Wesley? He didn't do something bad to her, did he?_

“Donovan’s like a male version of Jeri Hogarth. At least, that’s what Marci says,” Karen said, a hint of amusement in her voice. _Thank Marci Stahl for being the queen of insults._

“So he's a scumbag henchman of corporate America,” Matt chuckled, "At least, that's what Jessica Jones would call him.” Jessica had used that phrase while they had been returning to the abandoned theatre after talking to Lexi Raymond.

Karen laughed bitterly. “I’ve never met a lawyer so slick that he might as well be the black version of Tom Hagen, with a silver white spot in his hair that reminds me of Ellison's beard.”

“I gather you know a bit about him?” Matt asked, curiously.

“What do you think, Matt?” Karen replied, lifting an eyebrow towards him. She’d never met Donovan face to face, but she knew him very well by reputation from conversations during "ladies' nights" with Marci, plus the various trials of his she’d covered in the _Bulletin_ , including his recent defense of Mariah Dillard, cut short by the disgraced Harlem councilwoman’s poisoning in jail. “He comes off more like a gangster with a law license and a Bachelor's degree in spin doctoring. The guy feeds bullshit that somehow makes idiotic juries see the most cold-blooded gangsters as complete saints, even when the evidence is stacked against them.”

“And with Fisk, he’s probably not just a lawyer, but also a messenger and financial manager,” Matt said. "Everything about Fisk has to go through Donovan. He's in a place to know the inner workings of the deal that Fisk made to turn on the Albanians."

“You really think he’ll spill the goods on Fisk?” Matt could detect the skepticism in Karen’s voice.

"He's a top level guy," Matt insisted, "He's a perfect person to squeeze."  _Although unlike Wesley, Donovan is probably not as involved in the day-to-day business._ "Though let's be realistic, Donovan probably isn't as deeply involved in the gears of Fisk's operation as Wesley was, enough that he can maintain plausible deniability if things don't work out with Fisk. I mean, attorney-client privilege doesn't apply when you are actively aiding and abetting your client in committing crimes.”

"Which with Fisk, certainly is the case."

"That's if it can be proven," Matt added. "I'm betting Fisk's lawyers use their pull to direct that all surveillance be suspended whenever they have 'client meetings' with him." He made air quotes as he said those words "So there's probably no video or audio recordings."

"Should we talk to him?" Karen asked.

“I dunno. I’d say it’s worth a shot,” Matt shrugged. “I'll track him today and I can fill you in on what I get out of him-"

"No," she swiftly interrupted him. "I'm going with you."

Matt looked in her direction, his eyes widening with alarm. He was all for working with Karen to go after Fisk, and letting Karen understand what went on in his night job, but Karen actually tagging along with him on an outing? She could take care of herself, sure, but that wouldn't matter much to Fisk. Plus, unlike before, she was now a public figure. She'd have much more to lose if anything went wrong. "Karen, this is..." He took a breath. "...This isn't a really good idea."

"No," she acceded. “But you need backup out there.” The first time they'd investigated Fisk, all she'd ever done to help Matt was to dig up information that helped Matt do the hard work. But Fisk was out of prison despite those efforts, and Karen was skeptical whether Matt was 100% back to fighting shape.

"Karen…" A threatening tone crept into his voice. Matt loved Karen, but he wasn't sure if she should be putting such a big target on her back.

"Look, please don't bench me for this, but…I'm going to investigate Fisk either way," she pointed out, "And if Fisk decides to gun for me, I'm less likely to get hurt if I'm with you."

"You're a public individual now," Matt persisted, "Do you really think-

“Fisk tried to have me framed for murder!" Karen hissed. "He sent a guard to choke me in my cell! He sent another guy to attack me in my apartment! He blew up buildings in this neighborhood! He killed Elena so his Yakuza friends could build some skyscraper! And..." she stopped short of saying  _I killed his right-hand man_. She paused, trying to backtrack to something more reasonable. This was not the ideal way to reveal that she'd murdered someone close to Fisk, no less than the truth about her brother. She settled on, "My point is, you're not alone in this fight anymore, Matt. It's my fight too. It's also Foggy's fight, for that matter."

Matt sighed. "I just don't think it would be a good idea for you to be with me when I rough Fisk's lawyer up. You don't have a mask. If he tells Fisk about you, I just..." he felt his voice crack, "You know what kinds of people Fisk has at his disposal. Violent thugs who are willing to do anything for a seven figure paycheck. Do you know what they would do to you?"

"Yes, I do," Karen whispered. _Farnum. R_ _ance. Pike. Schmidt. Wesley._ She had to admit that Matt did have a point, even if he didn't fully understand the amount of danger she put herself in during their original investigation. But Karen didn't want to be the one working behind the scenes anymore. If Fisk was going to go after her, go after Matt, and go after Foggy, why not put herself out in the open and make herself a target?

She took a deep breath. "Look, Matt, you want to know something I realized during all these months that Foggy and I thought you were dead? It's that I hadn't been a part of this whole other side to your life. Not fully. I admire what Daredevil does, but...I want to live inside that world with you, not just sit on the sidelines.”

"Karen, it's one thing to know I'm Daredevil," Matt said, "but it's another to dirty your hands as well."

  
"My hands have never been clean, Matt," she replied.  _I've killed two people._ There was a very somber undertone in her voice. "If you truly want us to work together to bring down Fisk, you need to share _him_ with me, completely. And by him, I mean both Daredevil and Matt Murdock. Please..."

Matt sat there for several minutes,  asking himself whether or not to agree to Karen's terms. He had to admit, it was a very big ask. And as much as he wanted to say no, he had to admit, he would get a much better head start on bringing down Fisk with Karen by his side. Karen could see his face shift as he tried to weigh his options. She took that as a good sign, because it meant that he probably had no arguments as to why she shouldn't tag along with him on Daredevil outings.

"All right," he reluctantly said.

Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "So, what, you agree?"

"That could actually work."

"I don't get it, what--what could work?" she asked, skeptically.

"You," he replied bluntly, "and me, working together."

"How?" Karen asked.

"Well, we already know who we have to talk to," Matt said, getting up from the couch and heading into the bedroom. Karen stood up and followed him.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"The Presidential Hotel," Matt replied.

"Shouldn't we try his office?" Karen asked. "I believe Foggy might know where it is. He's had a few cases with Donovan as opposing counsel."

"Donovan won't talk to me," he countered, "At least, he's not going to talk to Matt Murdock. He may talk to Daredevil though. And seeing as Fisk probably wants to make sure that everything in his empire running smoothly, he'll probably make a visit to the hotel to see his client sometime today."

"The place will probably be heavily fortified," Karen replied, following him, "Extra security, and both police and FBI." In light of her ordeal with Lewis Wilson at the Roosevelt, she figured that security at the Presidential would probably be beefed up for Fisk's stay, as if he were some diplomat or a high-profile politician. _Protecting an asshole who doesen't deserve to have taxpayers paying for his lodgings,_ she thought, disgusted. Matt grabbed his black mask and slipped it into his suit pocket, as well as a pair of black winter gloves, and a protective case for his glasses. "Fortunately my job probably will get us both into the building." She smirked as she slipped on the lanyard on which she carried her journalist credentials. "You ready?"

Matt sighed.

"Alright," she said. "How do you do with the subways?"

* * *

Around 9:50 a.m., Matt and Karen set out from the apartment and headed down to the 42nd Street-Port Authority Bus Terminal station, where the E train stopped. Once through the turnstiles, they waited at the uptown local track for the E train to arrive. Even at the tail end of morning rush hour, the E train was pretty crowded, given its importance as a route connecting the west parts of Midtown with the Upper East Side.

Karen knew that the crowding on the E train would probably be alleviated once the MTA finally completed the East Side Access project. _If_ they ever completed it. She may have only lived in New York City for four years, but she was no stranger to the jokes about the eternal delays in the projects for the Second Avenue Subway, or the East Side Access that would eventually bring Long Island Railroad trains to Grand Central. At least the extension of the Q train up to 96th Street at the start of last year was proof that work was getting done. Union Allied had actually been one of a couple dozen contractors the MTA used for Phase I of the project.

_“This is a Queens-bound E train. The next stop is: 50 th Street.”_

As Matt and Karen boarded the E train, Karen was briefly worried for a bit whether Matt would be able to tolerate the tight spaces and loud noises of the subway, given what he’d told her about his amplified hearing. Fortunately,  the crowd did take notice of his red cane, and a kindly young woman did get up so that Matt could sit down in the designated handicap seat. Karen sat down next to him, and they began their short three stop journey to Fifth Avenue-53rd Street.

Karen spent a few moments trying to observe the other conversations going on in the car. Fisk getting out of prison was the lead story on every morning newscast. It would likely be the only thing every media outlet would be speaking about for the next few days. Too bad Karen wouldn’t be one of those people able to write about it, if Ellison had his way. Silently, she hoped that whatever she dug up with Matt today would be enough that she would have a chance to convince Ellison that he was wrong, that she was better suited than Jennifer or Mason to covering Fisk. She saw a few passengers enveloped in print copies of the _Bulletin_ , which were also plastered with Fisk's face, or looking at the story on their phones.  Some were engaged in idle chitchat, talking about Fisk with the same casual attitude one might discuss the weather. 

As the train left 50th Street, Matt, sensing Karen's unease, slipped his hand into her, lacing her fingers with his. He deliberately blocked out all other sounds of people in the car and focused solely on her heartbeat, her scent, and her shaky breathing. Despite Fisk being his top priority, in this very moment, he couldn’t help but think about anything else but Karen. He had realized that it was an excellent choice to reach out to her for help. She was willing to be by his side to the bitter end of this investigation, and if last night was any indication, she wanted as much as he did to fix the mistakes that destroyed their relationship, and take it to the next level.

A few moments later, the train turned east from under Eighth Avenue to under 53rd Street, which it would travel under to the east side of Manhattan, after which it would travel under the East River, then continue eastwards along the Queens Boulevard Line through subterranean Queens to Parsons Boulevard in Jamaica. Entering the stop at Seventh Avenue-53rd Street, Karen looked in his direction so she could look at the F.I.N.D. display that showed the upcoming stops, and saw the smile on his face.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, "Just...feels good to be around you."

"What are you hiding from me, Murdock?" she smiled back. _Trying to say "I love you"?_

Matt laughed, squeezing her hand again. He was so preoccupied with feeling her smile that he felt disappointed to hear the automated announcement for their stop, which jolted him back to reality and reminded him of the immediate task of stopping Fisk.

_“This is Fifth Avenue-53 rd Street. Transfer is available to the M train.”_

With that in mind, Matt and Karen exited the train and made their way through the morning rush hour crowd up the long escalators to the station’s east exit at 53rd and Madison, three blocks above the Presidential Hotel.

* * *

The Presidential Hotel was a luxury hotel located on the east side of Madison Avenue between 50th and 51st Streets, directly across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was considered one of the priciest five-star hotels in New York City, up there with the Plaza Hotel, the Four Seasons Hotels in Midtown and the Financial District, and the Langham on Fifth Avenue.

The hotel’s origins could be traced back to 1882, when railroad banker Henry Villard built six brownstone townhouses around a courtyard on the west part of that block. Known as the Villard Mansion collectively, they were acquired by renowned developed Harry Helmsley in 1974, who proposed a 55 story hotel attached to the Villard Mansion. The hotel was opened in 1981, and was owned by Helmsley until 1992, when it was sold off to the Sultan of Brunei. Over the next 25 years, the hotel passed ownership between several different companies, many of them unknown, changing several names, before ultimately being named the Presidential Hotel in 2012. Today, in 2018, the hotel’s penthouse was being used to house a crimelord with more influence over the city than the Mafia Commission had ever had.

This decision, of course, was one that no one was happy about at all, as Matt and Karen were not shocked to find when they entered the courtyard. There was a heavy police presence in the courtyard, along with a couple of vans from the TV networks, and most of all, there were protesters. They were sporting signs with various slogans like “STOP AND FISK HIM”, “NO JUSTICE NO PEACE,” “LOCK FISK UP,” “COP KILLER!!”, and “TSK TSK FISK”. There was one group of about two dozen or so who were already chanting “Lock Fisk up! Lock Fisk up! Lock Fisk up! Lock Fisk up!” They had been corralled into one corner of the courtyard by a small detail of NYPD officers who were stationed on site. _He’s rich and he got out. No wonder people are pissed,_ Matt thought. This seemed like a perfect place for a released crimelord to set up shop.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Matt said to himself.

“No it doesn’t,” Karen said, sadly, “Rich assholes who think they do whatever they want.” She made a mental note to try and find out something else: why was the FBI's idea of protective custody for Fisk to put him up in the penthouse of a luxury hotel in Manhattan? Why not relocate him to another prison or to some cabin upstate in the Adirondacks?

 _“Of course it does.”_ Matt heard Fisk’s voice echo in his head, as if Fisk was there and standing right behind him. _“God is angry at you.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Matt asked._

_“You don’t think God knows you tried to kill yourself? You don’t think Karen knows?”_

_“No. That has nothing to do with this.”_

_“God restored your hearing. Just in time to hear my name chanted by the crowds! Just in time to learn in the long run that I won, and you lost! Does that sound like God’s forgiveness?”_

Matt shook his head. _“No. It sounds like…hell.”_

 _“You’ll never keep Karen safe,”_ Fisk’s voice said _“You may be working with her to destroy me. But in the end, you’ll kill her too-“_

_“Stop it.”_

_“Just like your father. And Stick.”_

_“I said stop it.”_

_“And Elektra.”_

_“Stop.”_

_“They all died because of you, Matthew.”_

“Matt,” Karen squeezed his hand.

“Sorry, what?” Matt cleared his throat.

“You okay?” she asked, concerned. “You’re zoning out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…” he tried to think of a white lie to tell. “…a lot of people, a lot of noise. My senses don't work well in these kinds of places.”

From the tone in her voice, Karen clearly didn't believe that. "Bullshit," she said, "you just survived a ride on the subway with no problem."

"I was able to tune everything out and listen to your heartbeat," he countered.

"I'm choosing not to believe that," Karen said, a faint smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. She scanned the crowd, looking to see if there were any cops who could give her information about Fisk’s release. She really wanted to find just which agent in the FBI had the nerve to give Fisk what he and his lawyers asked of them, and punch him in the face. Well, okay, maybe not punch him in the face, but write a scathing article condemning him.

It didn’t take long for her to notice a familiar dark-skinned detective in a suit and tie standing by an unmarked squad car parked in the courtyard. _Brett Mahoney decided to stop in too, huh?_  Karen was initially confused by Brett’s presence, but then she remembered, he was the one who called her last night to inform her about Fisk being back on the streets. It was not a surprise to see Brett here. He had a very personal investment in bringing down Fisk. He was the detective to whom Matt had had Detective Hoffman to surrender to after they found where Owlsley had hidden him. Brett had also been the one who recaptured Fisk after Matt stopped his attempt to escape custody, an action that had gotten him a promotion from Detective Third Grade to Detective First Grade. And even before all this, he'd lost several friends and colleagues in the 15th when Fisk ordered the killings of those cops at the abandoned building where Matt had holed up with Vladimir, and had to stand outside a hospital room as Detective Hoffman poisoned Detective Blake.

Matt suddenly felt uneasy. Not just about Fisk, but also now about being in Brett’s presence. He knew Karen and Foggy had had to come up with some sort of cover story to explain his absence in the months since Midland Circle to people who didn’t know his secret. With most people, that was fine, but Matt wasn’t entirely sure where Brett was supposed to fall. On the one hand, he’d never said out loud whether or not he knew Matt was Daredevil. But on the other hand, Matt had let Brett take all the credit for the capture of Frank Castle (for which Brett received a commendation and a pay bump), and he was later enlisted into helping Matt pursue some leads on the Hand. In none of these interactions had Matt bothered to disguise his voice. And Brett was a detective. There was no way he wouldn’t possibly see a correlation between Matt’s disappearance and Daredevil’s death in Midland Circle. He was about to open his mouth to ask Karen about that when she called out to Brett.

 “Hey Brett!” she raised her voice. “This way, Matt.”

 _Okay, I’ll have to wait until we’re alone to inquire_. Matt and Karen slowly maneuvered through the crowd and over to Brett. Karen could tell that Brett hadn’t slept well at all. Matt couldn’t see it, but he could hear it in his heartbeat, the lilt in his step, the way he had his hands on his hips, and the weariness in his voice.

“I’d wish I could say it was great to see you, but under the circumstances…” Karen said.

“Nice to you see too, Karen,” Brett sighed, “Murdock.”

"Detective," Matt said. He forced himself to not smile.

“I haven’t seen you around for a while, Murdock,” Brett added.

“Yeah well, it’s been very busy these last few months,” Matt replied, “Small pro bono cases and whatnot. The kinds of cases that don't pass through your neck of the woods.”

“Good for you,” Brett said. Matt could tell from Brett’s heartbeat that he didn’t really believe that excuse, but, that was the least of his concerns right now. “I’m guessing you two are here about Wilson Fisk.”

“You called me last night to tell me he was out,” Karen replied.

“I had a feeling this day was inevitable,” Brett shook his head, “Guys like him, they’re like cockroaches. Just when you think you've put them down for good, they always find a way to come back..”

“And you were the one who put the handcuffs on Fisk when Daredevil stopped his escape,” Matt said.

Brett sighed. “Some luck that was.”

“I can’t believe he’s out, this is insane!” Karen said.

“I take it no one in the NYPD is happy about this?” Matt sounded inquisitive.

“Unhappy would be an understatement,” Brett put his hands on his hips, “You should’ve seen the morning roll call at the 15th. Everyone was angry. My commanding officer, Lieutenant Nick Manolis, he’s got a hard-on for injustices like this. It’s why he’s imposing Operation Stop and Fisk.”

Matt and Karen laughed. “What?” Matt sounded incredulous. That was an unusual name for an NYPD operation. Although he had to admit, the wordplay was very funny. _Making fun of their own controversial "stop and frisk" policy._

“It’s a task force. I’m part of it. So are Eddy Costa, Stacy Dolan, Katie Thompson, Jefferson Davis, and a couple others. We’re going to reopen every case file that is even remotely connected with Fisk, and see if there’s any new charges to  make out of them.” He lowered his voice before he continued. “We’ll also be working in conjunction with IAB to thoroughly audit every cop in the precinct to make sure Fisk isn’t still paying any of them. We're hoping to find something or someone that will convince the District Attorney’s office to indict him at the state level.”

Matt had turned away momentarily, though was still listening intently to Brett.

“That’s assuming that Blake Tower is willing to do something that could make or break his campaign,” Karen said. It was a big deal that Blake Tower was up for reelection. If he won, it would be his first full term as an elected District Attorney in his own rite, since at present, he was filling out the remainder of Samantha Reyes’ last term. The _Bulletin_ had officially endorsed Tower, with Ellison comprising a team made up of Glorianna O’Breen, Simon LaGrange, Sarah Dewey, and Nick Katzenberg to exclusively cover the city elections. Karen really wanted Tower to win, as he was promising to be tough on political corruption and organized crime, hot button issues that had plagued the city these past few years with people like Fisk, Reyes, and Mariah Dillard manipulating the justice system for their own gain. A prosecution of Wilson Fisk would certainly be the sort of thing that would test whether Tower would live up to his promises.

Brett uneasily responded, “Tower doesn’t want to go anywhere near Fisk with a ten foot pole, believe me.  Word I’m hearing is that he and Commissioner Reagan were persuaded by the FBI to not interfere with this sweet-ass deal Fisk made with them to inform on the Albanians.”

“And who the hell in the FBI thought it was a smart idea to let Fisk out?” Karen asked.

“You tell me.” Brett pointed to an FBI agent in a navy blue coat on his phone a few feet away. He looked Indian-American, with a mild tan and dark black hair that looked like something from a Disney animated film. “That’s the genius who got him out,” he said, “Agent Rahul Nadeem. Ray for short.”

“What do you know about him?” she asked.

“Family man,” Brett shrugged, “His sister-in-law actually just beat cancer recently.”

“Oh,” Matt chimed in.

"Heard he's driven himself broke paying for her treatments," Brett continued, "If you ask me, he's the sort of guy Fisk could easily sway with the promise of money."

"People would do anything for family," Matt stated. "But Fisk is not the best financial aid package." _It's one where the only retirement plan you get is a bullet to the head._

"Anything about Fisk's deal?" Karen spoke up.

“He wouldn’t tell me the particulars. It's 'classified'." Brett snorted, making air quotes. “Although I’m not surprised. The FBI and the NYPD have never really gotten along, ever since the Thomas Wilder saga.”

Karen remembered that case. Thomas Wilder was a serial killer who preyed on young women throughout the city. His reign of terror came to an end when he kidnapped Commissioner Frank Reagan's granddaughter Nikki, a college student at Columbia, and was subsequently tracked down and killed by the Commissioner's two eldest kids, Detective Danny Reagan and Assistant District Attorney Erin Reagan. There was a lot of bad blood between the NYPD and the FBI regarding jurisdiction over Wilder's various victims. Now it was looking like that was going to transform into a new form of hatred, stemming from the brass at the NYPD being unhappy that the man who ordered the murder of several of their officers was being housed in a luxury penthouse and being protected by the Feds.

 _Let's not dwell about that, though._ Karen turned to Matt. “Maybe he’ll talk to me. I’m a lot easier on the eyes.” With that, she began walking towards the FBI agent that Brett had pointed out, leaving the detective alone with Matt.

“She’s determined,” Brett quipped.

“That’s what I love about her,” Matt said, smirking. Karen was fierce and determined. When she got something between her teeth, she refused to let go of it no matter what the cost was. "She reminds me of myself."

“Is anything going on with you two?” Brett asked.

“Between me and Karen?” Matt asked.

“You know what I mean,” he replied. “Last I remember, the two of you and Foggy weren't on the best of terms."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say..." Matt shifted his feet. "...time heals all wounds. And, personal feelings aside, Karen's the most dogged investigator I know of. No offense."

“She sure is,” Brett said, half-jokingly, half-seriously, “She’s determined...but she brings danger everywhere she goes.”

“I know.”

“She’s really connected to these vigilantes,” Brett replied, “Castle. Jessica Jones. Luke Cage. Danny Rand. And a masked guy with horns we all believed until recently was dead.”

“You don’t have to be cryptic, Brett,” Matt leaned on his cane, “We both know you’re talking about Daredevil.”

“You caught me,” he sighed. “How exactly does a masked vigilante survive being crushed by a 400 foot skyscraper?”

“One of life’s little mysteries,” Matt said, with a tiny chuckle in his voice. He paused as he focused back in on Karen, who was waiting ever so impatiently for Nadeem to finish up his phone call. Nadeem was on the phone with his wife, trying to reassure her that he was okay in light of the Albanians’ attack on Fisk.

“Agent Nadeem?” Karen asked. She grabbed her notepad and pen from her purse, ready to start launching questions when Nadeem got off the phone.

Nadeem held up his hand in the “please wait” gesture. “As soon as I’m done here, Seema,” he said, “There’s a vigil at the hospital. Give Saami a hug when you got the chance. You too.” He finally hung up. From the look on his face, Karen could see he was very much burned out. He probably hadn’t slept in at least 36 hours. He had a small cut on the right side of his forehead, which she figured was from broken glass in last night's attack.

“Agent Nadeem?” she asked again, finally getting his attention. “I’m Karen Page from the _New York Bulletin_.”

Nadeem turned to her and shifted uneasily. _Oh great, another reporter,_ he seemed to be thinking. “I’m not authorized to speak to the press. You’ll need to find Special Agent in Charge Hattley.”

Karen began writing in her notepad. “But it is N-A-D-E-E-M, right? And you’re the agent who released Wilson Fisk?”

Nadeem looked offended by her use of the word _released_. “Fisk has not been released. That’s fake news,” he said. Karen rolled her eyes in disgust. _That’s just complete unadulterated bullshit. Instead of being in a cold prison cell, he’s in the penthouse of a warm luxury hotel. Or did the definition of "released from prison" suddenly change in the last 24 hours? As far as I'm concerned, that he's not in Riker's means he's been released._ “He’s a cooperating witness, but he’s very much a convicted prisoner and he’s being treated as such.”

“Being held in a $20 million penthouse?” she asked in disbelief.

“Seized by the US government from some Wall Street prick convicted of fraud,” Nadeem clinched his teeth. His tone made very clear that he was not thrilled with Karen’s presence and her questions.

“OH! Oh, I get it! Okay, so what’s he having for dinner?” Karen asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is it—is it the filet mignon or the line-caught halibut?”

“Press area’s over there,” Nadeem stated, motioning towards the staging area where a couple of TV vans were parked and other reporters were camped out with their camera crews. He walked away, headed for the street.

 _Oh, don’t you dare walk away from me, we’re not done here!_ Karen felt her anger at the whole situation boil over. “One RICO count carries a twenty year sentence!” she shouted. Nadeem stopped in his tracks. “Fisk was convicted of _five_! You want to explain to me how _this_ is _justice_?!” She pointed her middle finger at the giant hotel building behind her.

Nadeem marched back towards Karen. This insistent reporter really didn’t want to let him off easy, not while he had five colleagues in the morgue and others with worried relatives at Riverbank Medical Center. “Jennings. Garcia. Foster. Keaton. Torres. They lost their lives and they were good agents, good people,” he stated, coldly. “Write about them, Miss Page.” With that, he walked away and didn’t look back.

 _Whatever. I’ll be having words with you later._ Karen stomped her foot repeatedly in frustration and walked back towards Matt and Brett.

“Well that sounds like it went very well…” Matt snarked as she approached him.

“He’d rather I write about the agents who were killed protecting that shitbag!” Karen snapped, exasperated. She felt icky all over, and in more ways than one. “I get it, those agents had families, but they’re protecting a monster who doesn’t deserve any sort of protection!”

She took a deep breath, her burst of anger quickly dissipating. “So. Is there anything that I missed?”

“No, you didn’t,” Matt replied. "Brett was just warning me about how danger follows you everywhere you go." He smirked at her.

Karen took another deep breath. “You know, as long as we’re here, talking to each other, have you heard anything about the Rostam Kazemi case?” She flipped to the next blank page in her notepad and began writing.

Brett's face brightened at getting to talk about something not related to Fisk. “As a matter of fact, we caught a big break in the case last night. We arrested the guys responsible for it."

“I heard about that,” Matt replied, “Kazemi's a real estate mogul of some kind, and his daughter Neda, she’s a socialite on some reality show.”

“Yeah. On Sunday night, they were attacked outside a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen by some thugs with pipes and crowbars,” Brett said, “Rostam got put in a coma. He and his daughter would’ve certainly been killed had it not been for the intervention of a man dressed in black and wearing a mask.”

“You sure it was Daredevil?” Matt asked, pretending to sound skeptical. “Because I’m pretty sure he was killed three months ago under Midland Circle.”

“Not according to Karen,” Brett said. Matt turned his head in Karen’s direction. “She got an interview with Neda before Costa and I were able to talk to her. You should’ve read her article.” Turning to Karen, he added, “You didn’t say it was Daredevil. But you described this 'masked man' so well that when I brought it up with Manolis, he was convinced he was reading a physical description of Daredevil like the one Hoffman gave in that bogus statement where he blamed him for Blake’s death.”

“I am very thorough,” Karen quipped.

“Did you ever find the attackers?” Matt asked. Since Brett was working the Kazemi case, and didn’t seem to be suggesting outwardly at all that he knew Matt’s secret, Matt figured that pretending to not know anything about the case was the best way to go.

“We picked up seven of the attackers last night in the basement of a drycleaning business on 34th,” Brett said, “When Costa and I got 'em in the box, a few of them were able to say that some old English guy hired them to attack Kazemi…” he trailed off, suddenly getting very uneasy. _What? Is there more to this?_ Matt thought.

“…but what?” Karen asked, pausing her writing. Brett shifted uneasily and adjusted his tie. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming up.”

Brett cleared his throat. “Well, we were about to get them to say who hired them, when they got bailed out by the slickest pepper and salt shakers in town,” he replied. “Benjamin Donovan and Nicholas Lee.”

 _Fisk’s lawyers._ Matt thought he heard Karen’s heartrate speed up rapidly. Karen felt it too in spite of not having heightened senses. There was only one possible reason she could think of as to why Kazemi’s attackers would be getting repped by Fisk’s lawyers, and that would be that Fisk was paying them. “…Those are the heads of Fisk’s legal team,” she finally replied.

“Yeah,” Brett confirmed. “It was them. Smug bastards.”

“Do you think Fisk had something to do with the attack?” she asked. "The timing seems too coincidental."

Brett shook his head. “I don't think so. Right now, we’re just looking at the Kazemis’ history to see if Rostam got involved in any shady business deals. Costa’s headed to talk to Neda sometime later today.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Kazemis,” Karen shook her head. When she’d interviewed Neda at the hospital, Neda hadn’t the faintest idea of who would want to attack her father. She’d also given no indication that her father was involved in the mafia.

‘Well his attackers are being defended by the underworld’s favorite mob lawyers,” Brett countered tersely, “Look, Donovan & Partners doesn’t just represent Wilson Fisk. They represent practically every ‘olive oil’ salesman in Manhattan.”

“Is there anyone in particular you're looking at?” Matt asked. _If it’s another gang that Fisk is having negotiations with, I’d love to end the talks before they are finalized._

Brett bit his lip, like he was unsure how much he wanted to let the press know. “It’s still the early stages. All I can really say at this time is that we’re looking at a few players who’ve been driven out of Harlem after Luke Cage took over Mariah Dillard’s old night club.”

His iPhone vibrated as it received a text. He checked it. “Shit, I gotta run. Manolis is expecting me back at the station now. Listen, uh, you know where to contact me if you find anything on Fisk.”

“I know,” Karen replied softly, “Be safe out there, Brett.”

As soon as Brett was out of range, Karen turned and began marching towards the hotel's revolving entrance doors. Matt, concerned, quickly caught up with her.

"Where are you going, Karen?" he asked.

“Let’s go find that silver-haired asshole and tune him up a little bit,” Karen replied, her voice hardening. “It’s time that Fisk knows we're coming for him.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--In the actual courtyard scene, Karen speaks to a random uniformed cop who directs her over to Nadeem. My decision to replace that cop with Brett because, well come on, Brett was the cop who recaptured Fisk after Matt stopped his escape attempt. He also was the one guarding the door when Detective Blake died. Those cops that were shot were good friends of Brett's. (Also Brett is working with Detective Costa from Jessica Jones Season 2, as of Detective Sunday's death)
> 
> \--You'll notice that the details of Brett's promotion have been changed to be more realistic. In season 1, Brett was a patrol sergeant, and he stayed that way until he arrested Frank midway through season 2. Then he got promoted to a "Detective Sergeant" rank (which is not a thing in the NYPD), but with a Sergeant's shield. In season 3, Brett's just a Detective (which would be a demotion as Detectives in the NYPD hold the same rank as Police Officer, and have no supervisory authority). So I've changed that to him having been recently promoted to Detective Third Grade at the start of season 1, and he got promoted from Detective Third Grade to Detective First Grade (pay grade equal to that of a Lieutenant) for recapturing Fisk.
> 
> \--You probably caught me lifting some dialogue from Fisk and Vanessa's pre-wedding conversation in the final episode and giving it to Matt and Karen. Felt appropriate since Matt and Karen are very analogous to Fisk and Vanessa.


	4. What You Do For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen catch up to Fisk's lawyer, and learn some shocking information.

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter and Tommy Lim sat at the computer monitors, monitoring Fisk as he sat in the lone chair of the penthouse’s otherwise barren living room and stared intently at the wall. He wondered what was going through Fisk’s head. Part of him suspected that Fisk could be meditating. Maybe staring at the wall was Fisk’s way of centering himself, the way Dex used Dr. Mercer's tapes as bedtime listening, or when he went to see Julie on Tuesday nights. Maybe he was trying to have a conversation with it. Like, if he stared at the wall for long enough, the wall would eventually start talking back to him.

“Garcia was the best man at my wedding,” Lim spoke up, snapping Dex’s attention away from the monitors. He was actively in the process of musing out loud about their colleagues who'd died last night.

“Word is Andrews will pull through,” Dex replied. _He's not gonna be out in the field anymore_ _. With that bullet he took to the spine, he'll be lucky if he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair.  
_

“If you call ‘never going to be able to walk again’ pulling through…” Lim countered, bitterly. Although Lim seemed composed on the outside, Dex knew that he was pretty upset and angry about the events of last night. They’d both become good friends with Philip Jennings, Walter Garcia, Brad Foster, Patricia Keaton, and Matthew Torres in the past five years, ever since Dex joined the FBI and got himself assigned to the New York office’s tactical division. And all five of them had had their lives snuffed out in an instant protecting a piece of shit that Dex only felt obligated to protect because it was what his orders dictated of him.

It had been a long morning for both Dex and Lim. They’d both been on duty since 2:00 pm the previous afternoon when they were first debriefed by SAC Hattley about the plans for Fisk’s transfer from Rikers to the Presidential. It was supposed to be a straightforward operation: drive Fisk to the hotel and dump him in the Presidential's penthouse. Or at least it would've been if not for those gunmen. After neutralizing the Albanians, they’d had to rush Fisk to the security of the penthouse at the Presidential, and since then, Dex had been parked in the surveillance room next door, watching Fisk over the cameras to make sure he didn’t do anything crazy. The only times he’d left his post all morning had been to go to the bathroom, to strip out of his tactical gear, and to give a report to SAC Hattley about the ambush (as per Nadeem's instructions). He knew he’d have to eventually sit down with Dr. Myman to talk about what had happened, so that he could be considered cleared for duty. If Dex were being honest, he’d love to just go in there and shoot Fisk for “trying to escape”. It would save them a lot of time and save the taxpayers a lot of money. Then he could go off and see Julie. _I should really consider just actually talking to her, rather than spy on her from my car. I think that Dr. Mercer said something in one of our sessions about the importance of relationships._

“It’s hard,” he said, falling back on his mantra, “It’s really hard.”

“And he gets a penthouse,” Lim griped, motioning to the monitor of Fisk in the penthouse. Dex noticed movement on the camera for the hallway outside, and saw Fisk’s lawyers, Donovan and Lee, being escorted down the hall by Carl Waller, as well as by a few of the lawyers’ personal bodyguards. _Oh boy. You two were here last night. What do you want now?_  Dex thought. _More to do with his girl?_ They’d been here last night when Fisk was settling in, needing to discuss something pertaining to Vanessa’s whereabouts.

“Shut the cameras off please,” Lee said, appearing in the doorway, “We need time with our client.”

Dex wordlessly sighed and clicked a few buttons, turning off the cameras monitoring Fisk inside the penthouse. Fisk’s lawyers disappeared inside the penthouse, leaving their bodyguards outside. _It’s getting stuffy in here._ Dex looked at his watch and realized that the agents stationed down in the lobby were about to be rotated. He decided he could use the fresh air for a couple hours. It'd be a change of pace from watching video feeds from a cramped surveillance room.

* * *

In the living room, Fisk was staring at the nearby wall in a meditative state. 10% of him was contemplating his future business empire, 5% was contemplating how he'd destroy his enemies, and the other 85% was freaking out about Vanessa, and waiting for his lawyers to come back with an update. Staring at this wall was the best way to suppress his fear. Its present blank status reminded him of the “Rabbit in a Snowstorm” painting that he’d first bonded with Vanessa over. Of the wall that he’d been forced to stare at when his father beat his mother with the buckle of his belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the red recording lights on the surveillance cameras turn off and the faint static noise of them being powered down.  _Finally, they're here. I hope it's about Vanessa._ A moment later, an agent outside the door let Donovan and Lee into the penthouse.

“And?” he immediately asked, before the agents outside had even fully closed the doors. _Is there any good news about Vanessa?_

“We've reached Felix Manning,” Donovan replied, “Vanessa's safe.”

“Her bodyguards relocate her every 72 hours, and they take precautions to avoid being tracked,” Lee added, “No cell phones. It's why they were unreachable.”

“Where is she now?” Fisk asked. It was a relief to know that the reason Vanessa had been unreachable last night was because she was in transit to a new location. _So long as that new location is somewhere out of the Albanians’ reach…I should find out who compromised my transfer because they will need to understand just what happens to those who mess with me. I'm gonna put them in the same place I put Leland.  
_

“A safe house outside Barcelona,” Lee answered.

Fisk stood up and turned to his lawyers. _Spain?_ What the hell was Felix doing, directing Francis to move Vanessa to Spain? With the Albanians’ attempt on him here in New York, it wouldn’t be too hard for them to locate Vanessa if they had boots on the ground over in Spain. Especially if they had eyes and ears everywhere. “Felix hid her in Spain?!” he exclaimed, a little bit harsher than he intended.

“It was her decision,” Donovan said, sounding unusually defensive, “We strongly advised against Europe, given the extradition risk, but Miss Marianna enjoys the art and she can be very...insistent.”

Fisk relaxed and took a deep breath. _Right, that makes more sense, he thought._ Vanessa had a big taste for fine art and Barcelona was a place with a lot of art museums to suit her fancies. In addition to that, Fisk knew he had no right to get angry at Vanessa for her own choices. It had been her choice to continue going out with him, even as she became more and more aware of his not-so-legal activities and his brutal nature, and she had said yes to him when he proposed to her during his arrest. But alas, it didn’t mean that Fisk would never stop worrying about her, especially with the wedding being weeks away. “Yes,” he answered bluntly, “She can. But it's too easy for the Albanians to get at her there.” The best thing that they could do for Vanessa would be to relocate her somewhere the Albanians wouldn't think to look. “Call Felix. Tell him to put Vanessa some place safer. Some place closer.”

Donovan nodded meekly, though he knew that it would be a very tall order to convince Vanessa to leave Barcelona.

"Is there anything else you need from us?" Lee asked.

Fisk turned back to his lawyers. So long as they were here, an idea came to him. He'd been particularly impressed with Agent Poindexter for his heroic actions last night, singlehandedly killing every one of those gunmen with an accuracy that Fisk had never seen in anyone else, cop or criminal. A guy like that working for him as an assassin would be absolutely essential to rebuilding his criminal empire. And truth be told, he was desperately in need of some new talented killers to carry out special assignments for him, now that Rance, Healy, Schmdit, Pike, and others whom Fisk had used prior to his arrest were all either dead or in jail. Poindexter made all of those guys look like amateurs.

"When you contact Felix, tell him this is a personal favor to me, but I have a prospective hire that I want him to research."

"Who?" Donovan asked.

Fisk bit his lower lip and put his hands behind his back. "I want everything there is to know about Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter. Where he lives. His friends, his family. His colleagues. His favorite foods, beverages, restaurants. His hobbies."

Donovan grimaced. Truth be told, for all of the dirty work he'd done for Fisk and Mariah, he couldn't help but get on edge whenever his criminal clients asked unusual assignments of him. And this was one of those times. "Do I _want_ to know why you are so interested in the agent that saved your life?"

Fisk let out a weary sigh. "Ignorance is bliss, Mr. Donovan," he said, "Don't burden yourself with the secrets of scary people."

* * *

The interior of the Presidential Hotel’s two story lobby was very ornate and extravagant, by Karen’s standards. It had a vaulted gold-leafed ceiling and crystal chandeliers. The floors, columns, and grand staircase were covered in French and Italian marble. She couldn’t imagine living in a place like this. She hoped what Agent Nadeem was saying was true, that Fisk was being treated as a prisoner and this was just a glorified and massive prison suite. That he wasn’t still capable of controlling things. But deep down, she suspected that that wasn’t the case. There must be a reason why Fisk would be staying in this specific hotel, not too far from his former stomping grounds. And he probably had ways of getting people on the outside to do his dirty work, that circumvented the FBI guards.

As Matt and Karen made their way into the lobby and up the grand staircase to the second floor, Karen scanned her surroundings. It seemed like business as usual at the hotel, other than the increased presence of plainclothes FBI agents in suits and ties who were wearing earpieces. The entire time, Matt listened to the radio chatter coming from the chatter of agents checking in on their radios.

_“North  entrance is green.”_

_“Service entrance is green.”_

_“Lobby is green.”_

They arrived at the top of the staircase by the second floor, passing by what Matt presumed was a corridor that went to the elevators. There was a single FBI agent guarding the corridor, eying all guests for suspicious individuals. Karen saw the agent look up attentively as he spotted a bald-headed agent come up the stairs from behind Matt and Karen, carrying several bags of McDonald’s from just down the street.

“Chow is on the way, guys,” the agent said into his earpiece. He stopped the bald-headed agent and did an inspection of the bags to make sure none of the food was tainted.

“Mickey D’s, Waller?” the agent asked, sounding incredulous. “You think DOJ’s not gonna cover $40 Tuna Melts for us?” Matt couldn’t help but smile a little at the idea of Fisk’s babysitters having to subside on greasy fast food. As he and Karen watched, the food delivery agent was cleared to proceed to the elevators.

“Save me something, I'm up in ten,” the food inspecting agent replied.

“Penthouse, please,” he heard the delivery agent say to another agent standing by the elevator call buttons.

 _“It's got the best view,”_ Matt heard his inner thoughts again taking the form of Fisk.

 _“You should be rotting in a cell,”_ Matt said, internally.

 _“So you're gonna bring me back to prison?”_ Fisk’s voice asked. _“But you know that won't work. There's only one way to stop me, but you're not gonna do it.”_

 _Which is to kill you._ He asked, _“Are you sure about that?”_

_“In a way, you're my accomplice. Everything that's happened since you refused to kill me is on you. The bodies that I've stacked up. The ones to come.”_

“Matt? Matt!” Karen’s voice snapped Matt back to reality. “Snap out of it!”

Matt sighed. "What?"

"You look like you're hearing voices," she said quietly, "Are you talking to someone?"

Matt replied instantly, “Fisk.”

“Fisk isn’t down here, Matt, he’s 500 feet above us,” she replied. “Are you…”  It then hit Karen what might be going on with Matt: he seemed to be having a conversation with his internal conscience, and that conscience was manifesting itself in the form and shape of Fisk. It was something Karen was all too familiar with, remembering how that had been the base of her nightmares in the days after she killed Wesley. It was as if Fisk was taunting her for Kevin's and Wesley's deaths at the same time.

_"It's a difficult thing, isn't it? Taking a life, feeling the weight and responsibility of all the years the person you've murdered has lived. Moments that they've cherished. The dreams that they've struggled towards, gone because of you. I want you to know something. Something important that I've learned. That it gets easier the more you do it."  
_

For his part, Matt was tempted to just lie to Karen and that would be the end of this discussion. But he’d promised not to lie to her again, and he would make good on that promise. He had an obligation to. He reminded himself, he’d hurt Karen way more than he’d hurt Foggy by keeping her in the dark, and she’d deserved way better than he’d been giving her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it just as quickly, and took a deep breath.  After a few moments, he mumbled, “Okay, I’m hearing my inner thoughts in Fisk’s voice.”

Karen exhaled. “You are?”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Matt replied.

“Yeah, I think I know what you’re going through,” she said. “It’s not pleasant." She sighed, glancing off in the direction of the hotel's bar. "Fortunately, I know what the best remedy for that is.”

"Alcohol?"

"Caffeine."

* * *

Karen was no expert, but she was sure that not many police detectives were fond of stakeouts. For many, being assigned to a stakeout detail was probably the last thing they wanted to do. The reason it was such a hated task was that the job involved sitting around, waiting for something to happen. So initially, one might enter a stakeout with a certain level of excitement, the euphoria of thinking, _We’ll catch the bastards in the act and bring ‘em down!_ That quickly devolved into boredom and irritation as one realized that they would have to sit around for hours before something happens. And they had to make damn sure they didn’t doze off, possibly ruining the whole operation. If anything, the same could be said of reporters and paparazzi. They also had a thankless job of waiting around for hours just to snap photographs or ask questions of a celebrity who may or may not want cameras shoved in their face.

Which is how Matt and Karen found themselves sitting down at a table in the Presidential Hotel’s second floor bar, with a line of sight view to the top of the grand staircase and its elevators. Karen determined that this was the best vantage point, as it meant that they’d notice Donovan when he came or went.

For the next half hour or so, they sipped at coffees they’d ordered from the bar, as Matt listened to the radio communications of the FBI agents and Karen eyed the elevators, both of them patiently waiting for one or both of Fisk’s lawyers to make an appearance.  Not much happened, aside from a shift change around 11:30, as the agent at the elevators was relieved by some new guy in his mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair. He was also wearing a black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans. He looked like a SWAT officer, Karen thought. Matt thought something was off about the new agent, though he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on just what exactly that was. Was it with his heartbeat or something else? Whatever it was, it just bugged Matt greatly in a way he couldn't understand.

Around the same time as the shift change, Karen decided to pull out her laptop. Since it might be a while before the lawyers popped up, if at all, she might as well be productive and distract herself from the anxiety she was facing over possibly helping Matt beat up a lawyer. She opened a Microsoft Word document and began transcribing the notes she’d taken outside from her conversations with Brett and with Nadeem outside. She split things between two articles: one for the article on Fisk and another for the continuing story on the Kazemis.  She had a strong suspicion that it couldn’t be a coincidence that Kazemi was attacked just days before Fisk got out.  If there was anything she’d learned in her few years as a journalist, it was to never assume there were coincidences.

Matt, for his part, was using the FBI agents’ communications with one another to try and size up the security arrangements in the building. From what he could make out, FBI personnel were stationed primarily within the lobby. They also had the entire penthouse floor quarantined off to themselves.  

“Do you really think that the Kazemis could’ve done business with Fisk?” Karen mused, quietly. “I mean, a few days ago, Kazemi gets attacked, and today, Fisk gets out. And his attackers are being defended by Fisk's lawyers. Too many coincidences.”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Matt replied, grimacing. “You heard Brett. Donovan’s firm has represented most of the city’s criminal leaders. It could be any one of them, not just Fisk.”

Karen sighed. “You’re right, that probably will be a long shot. At the very least, I can tell Ellison I got a possible connection, and maybe we can use it as a possible lead-in if something solid comes up.”

“Depending on how tight-lipped the NYPD want to be with this,” Matt cautiously replied, “With the number of cops that Fisk owned, I wouldn't find it strange if some of them might be still out there.”

Karen sadly had to admit that that was true. Even with Hoffman’s information, and the subsequent sweep that rounded up most of the corrupt cops that were in the 15th Precinct, it was entirely possible that a fair number of them managed to slip under the radar. Matt was lucky that Brett was one of the good ones, because he doubted he’d get as far as he did if Brett turned out to be dirty.

"It wouldn't hurt to at least take a precursory look at it,” Karen replied. She couldn’t help but feel a little queasy about having to approach Neda with such a very strong allegation that her father was involved in the mafia. Because if true, then it meant that Rostam Kazemi, renowned philanthropist and Manhattan developer, who started several charity foundations to help survivors of the Incident, dabbled with people who peddled guns and drugs on the streets of the Big Apple. Neda had said that she didn't want the attention because of how the papers would spread scandalous things about her, and Karen feared that that was exactly what was going to happen if such an accusation made it into the press. It'd be worse if whatever Rostam Kazemi had done with Fisk was something he hadn't even told his daughter about. It was just one big bad headline waiting to happen.

She picked up her phone, and hesitated as she scrolled to Neda’s number in her contacts list. Given the story she’d told Neda about Kevin’s death, perhaps she could get her to open up once more. She also wondered whether it would be ideal or not for Matt to come along for an interview. Maybe Matt could use the story of his father as well, and he could offer some additional insight into what happened. At the same time, though, it wasn’t exactly normal for a reporter to bring a lawyer along when they did interviews. _Then again, I’m not a normal journalist,_ Karen thought. Taking another sip from her coffee to calm her nerves,  Karen pressed the call icon under Neda’s name and waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” Neda said.

“Neda?” Karen asked. “It’s uh, Karen Page, from the _Bulletin_. We spoke yesterday at the hospital about your father’s attack.”

“Oh! Karen! Hi,” Neda replied, her voice brightening just a smidge at hearing Karen’s voice.

“How is your dad doing?” Karen asked, out of mild curiosity.

“He’s still in a coma,” Neda answered, “They don't know when he'll wake up. But they say he is improving.”

“That’s great, yeah, that’s…really great," Karen said. She twirled her pen. "Listen um, are you available this afternoon?”

“Did something come up in finding my father’s attackers?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, something did,” Karen said, glancing at Matt. She bit her lip. This was not the sort of subject that should be mentioned on the phone.  _Just in case Fisk has bugged this communication._ “Look, it might be best if we do it at your place. I’d rather not break it to you over the phone."

"That's fine with me," Neda said, "I'd appreciate the company."

"Where do you live?”

“Oh! The uh, Park Laurel condos at 15 West 63rd Street. It's about a half block off Central Park West.”

“Okay, thanks,” Karen wrote down the address on her notepad,  “See you this afternoon.”

She hung up. _I should’ve mentioned Matt would be coming along. I know, it’s kinda unusual for reporters to bring lawyers with them on interviews, but this is Wilson Fisk we’re talking about_.

“That was Neda, right?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” Karen said quietly, “She’s a nice girl.” _How am I going to tell her that her loving dad got mixed up with the mob?_ “Did you ever talk to her at all, during your investigation?”

Matt shifted uneasily. Talking to someone he’d already spoken to as Daredevil was one thing. But the Devil inside him couldn’t help but worry about the possibility of Neda recognizing his voice or the lower part of his face. The rational part of him disagreed with that, though, reminding him that Karen had managed to interact with him in-costume twice without recognizing him.

“Yeah, I talked to her,” he finally replied.

“When?” Karen asked. “After the attack?”

“At Riverbank,” he clarified, “That’s actually how I found out that Fisk had been released. They were bringing in the FBI agents from the attack when I was leaving.”

“Oh,” Karen realized. _It's a miracle you found out that way, otherwise we might not be here having this conversation._

“Where were you when you heard the news?”

“Me, I was in Brighton Beach,” she said, “Having dinner with Ellison and his family.”

“That's fantastic," Matt said. Karen must have been doing great if she'd managed to score dinner with the boss. 

“I thought it was too,” Karen demurred. “Until I found out the truth.”

“What truth?” He now sounded curious.

“He was trying to pair me up with his nephew Jason,” she said, shaking her head.

“What’s he like?” Matt asked.

“Oh, he’s sweet and all, but…” she sighed. “…I don’t need a man in my life. I’m perfectly content as a single and unmarried woman. Well, unless you’re around.”

She still felt a little upset towards Ellison for trying to play matchmaker for her, although the last twelve hours had taken some of the edge off that. Just because it worked for him and Lily didn’t mean it would work for others. But she had to admit, Ellison was right about her being so lonely. She’d gone from having Matt and Foggy in her life to a life that had no Matt and only occasionally had Foggy in it. In an effort to numb her pain, she'd buried herself in her work at the _Bulletin_ , throwing herself at every assignment like there was no tomorrow, investing into dangerous stories no matter the risk.

“How is the job, otherwise?” he asked.

“It’s still good,” Karen said, “I still feel I’m making a difference there. And last night aside, Ellison’s a good boss. Which really helps.”

“Is he the kind of editor that scribbles all over your articles and makes you basically rewrite from scratch?” Matt asked.

Karen laughed. “In those first few weeks, yes. I mean, I didn’t enter the _Bulletin_ with a degree in journalism. I never studied that in college. And it’s a pain in the ass to start, learning to format your writing style so that you fill a column and leave no empty spaces. And having to hear whispers behind your back from your colleagues." Karen admitted that she kinda deserved to be the subject of such gossip, because she was young, attractive, and the editor hired her and gave her an office despite having minimal qualifications and experience, and it was on the basis of her connection to a deceased reporter, and she was allowed to work a single story that she was very much personally involved in, all major ethics breaches. "...But no one’s better at getting a rookie over the hump than having the editor-in-chief as a mentor.”

“But you like it?”

“Well it’s not exactly the non-stop chase that the movies like to depict it as,” she joked. “Those moments are far and few. But I feel like I belong there and that I’m doing good for the world. And I grew to love the job, warts and all.”

Although Karen felt she’d found her footing at the _Bulletin,_ she sometimes wondered how things would’ve been Nelson & Murdock hadn’t fallen apart, and that she, Matt and Foggy were still working out of their little office and being paid in pastries and peach cobbler.  “Although,” she admitted, casting a furtive glance around the lobby, “I gotta say, I miss working with you and Foggy. That’s what I miss the most about Nelson & Murdock: the three of us taking down Fisk from that tiny office. Playing pool at Josie's.”

Matt’s smile disappeared, replaced with a wistful look. “I guess it probably doesn’t mean much for me to tell you again how much I’m sorry for screwing everything up, Karen.”

“I know,” she replied, softly.

Matt himself missed the work too. “If this work with Fisk works out, maybe the two of us and Foggy could reopen that bar tab of ours at Josie’s,” he said. In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “I bet she secretly misses us racking up that massive tab she never expects us to pay.”

Karen laughed. “That brings back memories…”

“I mean, I’d love to say we should go a step further and reopen the law firm, and you should come back, but…” Matt paused to gather his thoughts. “…seriously, this journalism job suits you, Karen. You can’t deny that you’ve got a knack for wanting to expose the truth. It’s your own form of legally sanctioned vigilantism, with just a pen and notepad instead of an armored suit.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Karen broke out laughing again.

“Seriously, you found where Fisk was hiding his mother. And you found the property where Owlsley had stashed Hoffman. Without the latter, I doubt we would have ever gotten Fisk.”

 _And if he hadn’t gotten there quickly enough._ Karen remembered Matt telling her that if he had been even a few seconds late getting to that building, they wouldn’t have won at all. At the time that he’d found Hoffman, Fisk’s corrupt cops had just killed all of his bodyguards. One of them, Officer Corbin, whom Matt remembered as the cop who tried to kill him and Vladimir right after the bombings, was about to put a bullet in Hoffman’s head.

“It was our work together on that which paid off in the end,” she corrected him. "I did the digging that led you there."

“And since then, you…found out everything Reyes had been doing to cover up the deaths of Frank’s family,” he continued. “In spite of her efforts to bury it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the kind of shit that tends to get you into a lot of trouble,” Karen said, a darker tone coming into her voice.

“Believe me, I know,” Matt replied, “I mean, you got shot at in your own apartment. And Frank used you as bait for the Blacksmith.”

“That’s not even half of it,” Karen shook her head.

Matt gave her a concerned face, noticing the increase in her heartbeat. Since they’d agreed that there would be no more lies and pregnant pauses, Karen decided this was as good a time as any to discuss what had happened during the whole incident with Lewis Wilson. Everyone around her, Frank, Ellison, even Foggy after the fact (when he’d called her to see if she was all right), they’d called her decision to call Lewis a coward on the radio reckless and suicidal. But none of them had known the full truth about what had been going through her head at the time. In that moment, she felt that Matt kinda deserved to know the truth. No, strike that, she _wanted_ him to know the truth.

“About a week or so after Midland Circle, there was a series of bombings across the city,” Karen finally said, shifting in her seat, “They were being carried out by some ex-Army soldier with mental issues.” She felt bile in her mouth as she continued her story. “His name was Lewis Wilson. He sent a manifesto addressed to me, thinking I’d champion his little bombing campaign just like I championed Frank.”

Matt looked horrified. He felt butterflies in his stomach. “Oh my gosh…I had no idea. Jeez…I mean, you’re better than that.”

“I don’t endorse Fisk, I would never endorse a man who blew up buildings for twisted reasons,” she replied, unsteadily. “Anyways, I get invited to a radio show with Senator Stan Ori, co-hosted by one of Trish’s friends-"

"The Connecticut senator that strongly advocates for gun control?" Matt interrupted. "I think Foggy's said the guy's a sleaze."

"He is. Anyways, the bomber, Lewis, he called in to the show threatened me. I escalated it, called him a coward on the air.”

“He didn’t like that.” Matt could sense where this story was going. Karen said something to piss off a bomber and the bomber decided to target her.

“Yeah, he came after me and the Senator when I did a followup interview with him on his gun control policies at the Roosevelt Hotel,” Karen said. She took another breath, but there was still a noticeable degree of shakiness in her voice as she resumed. “He blew out the doors and shot the bodyguards. And Senator Ori, he was a complete coward, he practically threw me to Lewis and Lewis turned me into a human shield.” She shuddered, thinking about how close she'd come to dying that day. That had been a closer brush with death than any of her previous near-death experiences from the Fisk and Blacksmith investigations.  “He had a suicide vest strapped to his chest. If it weren’t for me getting a gun off one of the Senator’s bodyguards, and Frank giving me nonverbal cues as to how to disable the bomb, I’d have died.”

Matt was rendered speechless. “Jesus Christ, Karen.”

“I freed myself by shooting the guy in the foot. But then Frank talked the guy into blowing himself up in a meat locker,” Karen continued, words flowing, “He didn’t have to, he could’ve just turned Lewis over to the cops and ended things there.” She gestured to a spot on her torso just above her underwear. “Frank shielded me from the blast, all right but I still got hit by shrapnel around here.”

“What exactly did you think you were trying to accomplish, pissing him off like that?”

Karen bit her tongue. When she had initially called Lewis a coward on the radio, she hadn’t really been thinking.

“Well, I thought I could provoke him into coming for me, maybe make a mistake, so that it would be easier for the police to find him.”

Matt couldn't help but notice that that sounded like a familiar playbook. “That sounds like what you were suggesting we do for Fisk just a few hours ago.”

“I was perfectly willing to give my life if that was what it took to stop him,” Karen declared, “I wanted him to kill me.”

“Really?” Matt sounded pained. Karen had more or less tried to provoke a bomber into gunning for her and trying to kill her? “Why?”

“You,” Karen whispered.

“Me?”

Karen’s voice broke as she continued.

“When you disappeared, I felt I’d lost you forever, that I’d never get a chance to tell you what I really felt about you and about Daredevil,” she said, choking back a sob since she didn’t want to make a scene in public. “I was a complete basket case for all this time. I kept wishing I could’ve said something different at the precinct, so that you died knowing you had my unconditional love, my full support for your cause. That became more obvious to me when Frank showed up again and asked for my help finding some NSA analyst with information on the people who killed his family. Then Lewis came along and threatened me, and I just…I saw a perfect opportunity to just end it all…”

Matt felt like his heart had been stabbed with a thousand cuts. Karen was saying that she was so upset over losing him that she’d tried to commit assisted suicide. _I can’t judge her for that._ He had tried to goad the Kazemis’ attackers into trying to kill him. He had been that close to letting them kill him, and they probably would’ve succeeded if not for the squad car that cruised by.  Neda probably hadn’t mentioned that to Karen.

This was typically the sort of pain he reserved for himself, but hearing Karen’s story, he felt an overpowering urge to disclose it. If only for the sake of her pain.

“I know what that’s like,” Matt started, taking one of her hands in his.

“Really?” Karen asked, blinking through the tears.

“I still had ample hearing in my left ear,” Matt continued, “I could even hear the sounds of people outside, who I wanted to help. So when I heard their screams, I ran out and I took down their attackers.”

“The Kazemis?” Karen whispered.

“I stopped it.” Matt gulped, “I rescued them. And I could’ve…could’ve left their attackers for the police, but…”

Karen felt her heart skip a beat as she realized what Matt was saying. He had been in such pain that he tried to goad the attackers into beating him to death.

Matt lowered his head. “They were about walk away. I gave them a pipe, and told them to do it. Just…beat me to a pulp.”

“Jesus…” Karen gasped, her breathing accelerating.

“A police car rolled up the block, forcing them to flee, and I ended up fleeing too,” Matt finished.

_If the cops hadn’t been there, Matt would be dead for good._

The thought of Matt being in such a bad place that he wanted to end it all only made Karen shudder. She’d have lost Matt forever, and never gotten a second chance to fix things. A second chance she’d been denied too many times with the people who’d left her.

“I understand,” she said softly, “Feeling so helpless and lonely. The pain. The misery. Wanting to put an end to it somehow.”

Matt pursed his lips, preparing to say something, only then he stiffened up and cocked his head, as if he’d heard something important.

“Speak of the devil…” he whispered.

“Matt, what is it?” Karen asked gently.

“Don’t look up,” Matt said quietly.

“Why?”

“Donovan’s coming this way,” Matt said.

“Can you hear what he’s saying?” she asked.

 _“I have the routing number, Felix. Two million in Euros…No, today. My client is not a patient man.”_   Moments later, Donovan passed through the bar, accompanied by two men in suits with earpieces that he took to be Donovan’s bodyguards. He was talking on his phone about some sort of wire transfer.

“He’s talking about a money transaction,” Matt tuned his ears to focus on Donovan, as he headed for the elevators. “Two million in Euros being transferred from one account to another.”

“Maybe it’s his new money man,” Karen suggested.

“Well let’s find out,” Matt got up from his chair.

 _“Garage, Level 3, please,”_ he heard Donovan say to the FBI agent standing by the elevator.

“What, we're following him?” Karen asked, alarmed. “Matt, do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve got my mask with me,” he said, patting his pocket as he got up. Karen put some cash down on the counter, grabbed her purse and got up as well, hurrying after Matt. They tried to follow Donovan into the elevator bank, but were stopped by the FBI agent guarding the elevator, a young kid with mussed-up dirty blonde hair.

“Hold it,” the agent said, “Can I see your room key?”

“Yeah I got it,” Karen patted her purse.

“No, I need to _see_ it,” the agent replied, more sternly. Matt still thought something was off about him. He seemed agitated and a little jumpy, and it didn't seem to him like it was nervousness that resulted from bodyguarding Fisk, or from being caught up in last night's gun battle.

“Oh, sure.” Karen opened her purse and made a big show of rifling through it, pretending to look for a key card. The agent was unimpressed, one hand straying towards his gun. Something was off about these two and he didn’t know what…

“Miss?” The agent asked.

Matt pretended to pat his coat pocket with his left hand. “They don’t make them in braille.”

“Look, they gave us, like, three of them,” Karen said, lamely.

“Then I can’t let you two through,” the agent put his hand on his gun.

“Sure,” Matt sighed. “We’ll-we’ll be right back.”

Once out of earshot from the agent, who Matt could tell was eying them suspiciously, he said, "Guess we'll have to take the stairs.”

As they left, Dex couldn't help but think that something was off about these two.

* * *

Compared to the ornate and ostentatious decor of the hotel lobby, the parking garage was dimly lit, and felt very cold and damp. It seemed like the ideal spot for criminals to hold clandestine meetings, or for cops to meet with confidential informants, or masked vigilantes wanting to shake down leads. At least, that’s what Karen understood from watching too many crime movies, as well as Matt’s disclosure of where he'd gotten Owlsley to give him a thumbdrive containing information about Fisk's finances.  

As they exited the stairwell on level 3, Matt folded up his cane and slipped it into his coat, and also put his glasses in a protective case. Then he reached into another pocket and pulled out his mask, sliding it over his head. Lastly, he put on his gloves, ostensibly to protect his hands and avoid leaving any blood or DNA for the police.  Karen felt her heartrate pick up, knowing that she was about to become a participant in a beatdown. Which both excited her, being up close with Daredevil himself,  and terrified her, given the possible ways this could go wrong.

“You know, I’ll be honest,” Karen said, nervously, “I like this look a whole lot better.”

“Really?”

“I mean, it obviously doesn’t protect you like the, uh, red suit did, but, I can see your curves…” She playfully fidgeted with Matt’s tie. “Also it looks much easier for me to take off if I’m feeling hot and bothered…” She found herself blushing again. _Damn it, I need to tamp down these impure thoughts…_

Matt laughed. If anything, he felt like his current get-up of wearing a mask while also wearing a suit and tie was reminiscent of the costume he’d improvised when he and Jessica infiltrated Midland Circle. Well, it wasn’t so much a costume as it was him stealing her scarf and tying it around the top part of his head. “Jessica would say I look like an asshole if she were here.”

“She really said that?”

“Well she's…Jessica Jones, so....” he shrugged, heading off into the bowels of the garage. Karen almost had to run to keep up with him as they made their way to another door where the hotel’s elevators had their own access to the garage.

Karen opened her mouth as if to speak, but Matt held up his hand in a “shush” motion. He craned his neck as he listened to the descending elevator. He was amazed that they’d managed to beat Donovan down here. He suspected that Donovan must’ve been tied up on his phone call, and didn’t want to lose reception.

Moments later, Donovan emerged and entered the garage, followed by his bodyguards.

“You follow him, I’ll try to find a way to take out his guards,” Matt quickly whispered to Karen. “Got me?”

“O--okay,” she whispered. “Just be careful.”

She waited until Donovan was about 20 feet behind her, then proceeded to follow him. Donovan made his way down the nearest aisle of cars, back towards the stairwell Matt and Karen had entered the garage through, and came to a stop by a black Audi sedan which she took to be his car.

As Donovan pulled out his key fob to unlock the doors, Karen made her move. “Benjamin Donovan?” she asked.

The slimeball lawyer and his two bodyguards turned around, uneasily. In the dim lighting of the parking garage, he didn’t recognize Karen right away.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you could answer a couple of questions for my friend,” Karen added. Donovan barely had time to process what Karen was saying.

There was a loud bang as Matt appeared and slammed the blond-haired guard into the hood of a nearby car.  While the man was struggling to process his bearings, Matt quickly gave him a quick tap to the head, knocking him out. Donovan’s other guard, a dark-skinned male in a baseball cap, rushed over, a taser in his hands, prepared to stun his colleague’s attacker. Matt sensed him coming and delivered a spin kick to his face, causing him to drop the taser, which scattered away. This guard retaliated with a pretty hefty gut punch using his other hand, that was enough to cause Matt to stumble a bit. This gave him an opening to deliver a series of telegraphed blows that Matt effortlessly dodged and countered.  This was the first time Karen had ever gotten to witness Matt fight up close and in person, since learning the truth about him.  She couldn’t help but feel a hint of arousal forming inside her, which she quickly clamped down on. _No sexy thoughts, Karen, not while you’re on duty._ As she watched, Matt delivered a body blow to the guard’s solar plexus, which was enough to knock this guy off his feet. As he staggered, Matt closed in and delivered another strike to the guy’s pelvis, fracturing it. The guard fell to the concrete floor, screaming in pain. At least, until Matt silenced him with a swift kick to the side of his head. For a moment, she worried that Matt had killed the man, but relaxed as soon as she saw the man’s chest rising and falling.

Matt stood, panting, as he regained his breath and focused back on Donovan, who was standing a few feet away. He could hear Donovan’s heartbeat pounding like a jackhammer and breathing heavily, between Karen holding a gun on him and his bodyguards having just been incapacitated.  

“I'm going to ask you some questions," he said, "Believe me when I say that you will want to answer truthfully if you don’t want to regret taking Fisk on for a client. Understood?”

Donovan hesitated, then nodded. With Karen holding her gun, Matt proceeded to grab Donovan and slammed him back-first onto the hood of his car.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re…” Donovan’s eyes went back and forth between Matt and Karen. “…you’re Daredevil,” he said to Matt. He turned to Karen. “And you’re Karen Page. You really are pushing to low standards, aren’t you, Miss Page?”

Karen kept her gun brandished, displaying it for Donovan to see.

“Oh you better watch it, Donovan, ‘cause I’ve had a fucking long morning and I do not want to be tested!” she shouted.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Donovan said. Despite his efforts to sound brave and put on a poker face, he was still very scared.

“Well I’m giving you two options now, _Benny_ ,” Matt said, his voice now a quieter, more menacing growl. “You can let Miss Page here run unflattering stories about your criminal services for Mariah Dillard, Wilson Fisk and countless other criminals...” He paused. “…Or you can tell us what we want to know. Your choice.”

He took a deep breath, then grabbed Donovan by his coattails and slammed him back down on his car hood, hard enough to leave a dent.

“Why did Fisk flip on the Albanians?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donovan said. “You’ve got the wrong person.” Karen cocked her gun.

Donovan knew he had to say something that would get Matt to call Karen off. “Fisk hated prison! The FBI got him out.”

“I know, he could’ve turned on anyone, but why the Albanians?” Matt asked.

“I’m just a lawyer!” he protested. Karen cocked her gun.

“Cut the shit, we both know you’re more than just a lawyer in all this,” Karen growled, “Why Mother Teresa? Why not Ma Gnucci or Rosalie Carbone, or the Westies, or one of those Triad groups?”

No response from Donovan.

“What is Fisk _really_ getting out of this?” Matt asked. “Is it the Albanians’ territory?”

“No,” Donovan relented.

“Is it money?” Matt asked.

“No!”

Matt climbed onto the hood, whereupon he lifted Donovan’s head up and bashed it against the hood, this time absolutely leaving a dent in the aluminum. He could smell blood coming from a fresh cut on the side of Donovan’s forehead.

“All right, why don’t you let me know when you want to breathe?” Matt put his hand on Donovan’s neck and began applying pressure to it. Karen stared wide-eyed at him, afraid of what Matt was doing, but didn’t take her gun off Donovan. _Don’t kill him, Matt. Please don’t kill him._

Tiny black dots were beginning to form in Donovan’s vision. He clawed at Matt’s forearm with both hands, trying to loosen his tight grip, but that just made Matt apply even more pressure. Eventually he mustered up enough strength to emit an answer.

“Fisk’s woman! The Feds will drop all charges against her.”

“Vanessa?” Karen asked. “This is all for Vanessa?”

“No way-“ Matt said simultaneously.

“I swear! He’s doing it all for her!” Donovan forced out.

Karen was about to take her turn and ask Donovan about the Kazemi attack, but Matt suddenly picked up several heartbeats coming down the stairwell. Hopefully, they weren’t armed security or FBI agents protecting Donovan.

“Where is Vanessa?” he asked. Then he heard radio chatter. _“Garage is clear.”_ It was the FBI. Realizing he’d be found, Matt quickly released his hand from Donovan’s neck and jumped off the car.

“Come on, let’s go! We got company!” he shouted to Karen. Karen slipped out of sight, hiding behind another car as Matt split off in another direction.

“Help!” Donovan shouted as he rubbed this throat, and saw the agents entering the garage. “Help! Help!”

  
The FBI agents raced to his aide. “Are you all right, sir? Who hurt you?”

“He’s an Albanian,” Donovan said.

“There’s an unidentified assailant in the parking deck considered armed and dangerous,” the agent said into his radio. Matt hid behind a column and waited as the agents drew their guns and began sweeping the garage. As one of them rounded the column Matt was standing next to, he emerged and sucker-punched the agent in the back of the head. Before the agent had any time to react, Matt grabbed him in a sleeper hold with his left arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him from screaming and tipping off a pair of agents who were walking down the next aisle, guns raised. As the agent began to black out, Matt released him and he slid down the side of a white SUV parked in front of Donovan’s car.

Matt then broke cover and darted over to the next column, flattening himself against the side to hide from these two agents, who passed by his location, not noticing him.

As soon as the two agents passed Matt, he broke cover and ran towards the nearer of the two. This agent heard the treading of Matt’s footsteps and turned around to look, not noticing Matt jump into a somersault. He made it over to another column and backed up against the right side of a black hatchback, using his left leg and arm as support. He paused, listening as the agent he had slipped past walked by the other side of the car. 

When this agent had cleared the hood of the car, Matt broke cover and ran up to him. Before the agent could react, Matt had grabbed him by both shoulders, slammed his head against a wall, and locked him into a sleeper hold. Matt dragged the agent’s body around a protruding column and deposited him against the wall. As he did so, the agent tried to stand. With a quick jab from the elbow, Matt struck him in the head, knocking him out.

He headed for the stairwell, back against the wall, and rounded the corner, preparing to escape up the stairs. Unfortunately, no sooner had he opened the door did he hear radio chatter from up above.

_“We’re in Stairwell H heading down to Parking Level 3.”_

_Shit, FBI are coming down. That way is blocked._ Matt quickly closed that door and prepared to head towards the garage’s vehicle exit. He made it to a column above five feet away from the stairwell door, and paused as he heard the radio of another agent approaching just a few feet away.

_“We need backup on Parking Level 3. Repeat, we need backup on Parking Level 3.”_

From the sound of the man’s heartbeat, this agent was only a few feet away, and Matt’s window to slip past him was very tiny. He darted out from behind the column…and the agent promptly spotted him and drew his gun on him.

“Stop! FBI!” he shouted.

Matt paused and raised his hands. The agent added, “They have families, asshole!”

“Listen, I’m not here for you-“ Matt started to say, but the agent had his finger on the trigger and prepared to fire. Suddenly, a shot rang out in another part of the garage and hit the agent in the shoulder. _Karen._ He could sense that she was hiding behind cover a few rows away and had pulled her gun out. The agent turned his gun off of Matt and in the direction of the gunshot that he’d just heard. Before the agent could spot Karen, Matt grabbed his gun hand. The two struggled as Matt tried to wrestle the gun away from him. This agent managed to get Matt pinned down on the hood of a pickup truck. The man gave Matt an upper cut to the left side of the face. Matt got up, twisted the agent’s arm and slammed his head against the truck’s hood. He then lay down several additional punches to his face, knocking the agent out. As he did so, three plainclothes agents came out of the stairwell Matt had just tried to escape up.

“There he is! Stop!” The agents raised their guns and opened fire on Matt. Matt ducked to the ground, narrowly avoiding a bullet that would’ve clipped him in the shoulder, and rolled behind a mint green Prius. He heard glass shatter as the agents’ bullets shattered the car’s headlights and windows.

“Come out with your hands up! Now!” one of them shouted. Matt made a circle around the Prius, putting him on its drivers side, and ambushed them from their three o’clock position. He lashed out at them with everything he got, punching, kicking, dodging, disarming them of their guns and using the ejected magazines as projectiles. Eventually, one agent was able to tackle Matt to the ground and began straddle punching him. Matt used one of his free hands, wrapped it around Agent #1’s throat, and struck his head against the grille of an adjacent Honda, then tossed him the opposite direction. Agent #2 leaped over, and Matt, still lying on his stomach, delivered a quick uppercut to the side of his face, stunning him. Agent #3 tried to get in a punch, but Matt swept his legs out from under him.  

Agent #1 recovered, and grabbed Matt by the right arm, lifting him up to his feet. Using his right hand, he punched Matt in the ribs. Matt retaliated with a palm strike to the side of the neck, knocking the agent down.

“Stay down,” Matt said, as the agent regained his footing and swung at him. Matt gave a left hook to the man’s jaw, and threw him on his back. Taking a deep breath, Matt prepared to walk away. As he did so, Agent #1 grabbed ahold of his leg in a last-ditch effort to stop his escape.

 _“That’s it, let the devil out!”_ Fisk’s voice echoed in his head. With his right hand, Matt lifted the agent to his feet, and punched him repeatedly with his left, until the agent was unconscious. But Matt wasn’t satisfied yet, and proceeded to pummel the man until he was bleeding severely from the mouth and had several more nasty cuts on his face.  Regaining his breath, Matt studied the scene and the bodies that laid before him.

 _“Yes, it felt good, didn’t it?”_ Fisk’s voice echoed in his head. _“Too bad you still can’t get at me, not with Karen helping you or with the FBI protecting me. I’m going to kill everyone you love, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”_

“Matt!” Karen’s voice interrupted the voice of Fisk’s that Matt was hearing in his head. She came running over, putting her gun in her purse. “Holy shit, are you okay? Matt? Matt!”

Her voice sounded hollow and distant, and it took him a moment to register her. “Karen?”

He took several deep breaths, letting the adrenaline fade away. He turned around to Karen.

"Holy shit," Karen whispered, her eyes wildly looking over the unconscious agents. The one Matt had been wailing on when she got there looked like he would need extensive reconstructive surgery.

“Karen… ” He began. _Fisk’s voice made me do it._

“Are you okay?" she said, breathing heavily.

"Yeah, I—" Matt took a deep breath.

"I’m here, Matt,” Karen said. “I’m here.”

As Matt took off his mask and stuffed it in his pocket, and put his glasses back on, Karen could sense he was troubled. She knew that she should tell Matt to not beat himself up over this; these FBI agents were just doing their jobs. And it was far from the first time Matt had ever attacked cops. He fought corrupt cops in Fisk’s pocket a few times, and he’d even kicked Brett’s ass once. He shouldn’t be having second thoughts.

Indeed, Matt was troubled by the hallucination he’d just had of Fisk, telling him to beat the last agent up beyond what was absolutely necessary. But what was more on his mind was what Donovan had just told them about Fisk’s deal with the Albanians. Fisk had flipped on them in exchange for Vanessa’s protection. Matt could buy that. Fisk was very protective of his Vanessa. Matt still remembered plain as day that it was his mentioning of Vanessa’s name that caused Fisk to fly into a rage and beat him in the prison and declared war on Nelson & Murdock. And before that, he remembered hearing that Vanessa got poisoned at a charity gala Fisk threw at the Van Lunt Building, and Fisk spent the next few days by her bedside, refusing to leave the hospital. And when Fisk was arrested, he had arranged for her to be escorted out of the country.

 _But what exactly was Vanessa facing charges for?_ And why would Fisk specifically turn over the Albanians? For that matter, how had he persuaded the FBI to agree to such a clearly flawed deal? 

He felt Karen gently slip her fingers through his, dragging him away from the unconscious FBI agents, who he could sense were beginning to stir and would be waking up any second now.

"Come on," Karen said. "Let’s get out of here before they see you."

They hightailed it, exiting the garage through the vehicle entrance ramp to 50th Street, before more agents or hotel security could pop up. As they walked back to Madison Avenue, Karen thought about the information they’d received. For a smug bastard who was talented at feeding bullshit to juries and cops, Donovan was a real coward and it hadn’t taken much pressure from Matt for him to give up a lot of useful leads on Fisk. Too bad none of it was stuff that she could print without another source to corroborate it. Someone who wouldn’t have to be physically coerced into revealing privileged information. She quickly ruled out Donovan’s partner Lee, as he would probably be as unwilling as Donovan to discuss privileged communications to a lawyer from another party. Then she remembered, that FBI agent she’d spoken to in the courtyard, Ray Nadeem, Brett had said he was "the genius" who got Fisk out. As the one who Fisk made the deal with, Nadeem would be in a perfect position to answer a press inquiry. It was just a matter of approaching him insofar as he wouldn't be able to dodge an interview.

“At some point, we should talk to Agent Nadeem,” Karen said, as they exited onto 50th Street and began walking back to the subway station.

Matt grimaced, still feeling a bit sore in a few places from the recent fight. “You couldn't get him to talk at the hotel, I doubt he’ll talk to you elsewhere, whether at the hospital or at his office,” he pointed out.

“Maybe not right at this moment,” she said, “But he's got the down-low on the specifics of Fisk’s detail. And even if he's not authorized to talk to the press, he at least is a legitimate source. Donovan isn’t.”

Matt kinda doubted that. Then he remembered a name that Nadeem had dropped when Karen tried questioning him in the courtyard. “Didn't he mention having a boss?” Matt said. "Special Agent Tammy Hattley?"

Karen shrugged. _Oh, right. He did._ “Yeah. He mentioned her.”

They stopped for the light at 51st Street. "She's higher in the chain of command. Probably knows the inner workings of Fisk's deal with the FBI inside and out," Matt pointed out.

Karen rubbed her face as she contemplated her options. Come to think of it, Hattley probably was just as good an option. She would've been privy to the finer details about Fisk, and she was senior enough to give them access to information Nadeem might not have. And even though she was not the agent that Fisk made the deal with, she'd have to have been debriefed about this matter. But was now a good time to speak to her? Now would be ideal, when the transfer was just a few hours old. But Karen also really wanted to talk to Neda Kazemi and find out about her father's connections. Besides the possibility of the attack on her father being connected to Fisk, it was the story that Ellison had assigned her to handle.

"So what are you thinking, Karen?" he asked, breaking the silence.

“Well you heard Nadeem. He told me I should write about the agents who died last night protecting Fisk,” she said. “We could show up at the FBI office seeking some information about the dead agents. If we catch Hattley there, we might be able to convince her to talk.”

Even with his glasses on, Karen could still tell that Matt was having second thoughts. “Matt, we’re in this together to stop Fisk,” she said, quietly, “I help you, you help me.”

“The Feds will think it suspicious that a reporter is bringing a lawyer along for an interview,” he replied, “You're probably not a person of interest in any cases.”

“Yes, but I’m a walking violation of journalistic ethics, Matt,” Karen whispered. Matt laughed and before he knew it, he’d cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. Their kiss deepened as Matt felt Karen lean against him and wrap one of her hands around his neck, her fingers running through his hair again. They were very much oblivious to the fact that they were standing in the middle of a crowded Manhattan sidewalk and didn’t even notice that the walk signal had changed. When Matt heard some angry pedestrians yelling at them to move, he remembered they were and broke the kiss. Their foreheads were still touching, though.

“We should do this more often,” Matt murmured as they turned to cross the street, going with the flow of traffic.

“Beating up mob lawyers?” she asked.

He laughed. “I wish. No, public displays of affection. You can’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Which version of you?” Karen was blushing, strong enough that Matt could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks.

“Both, honestly,” Matt said. It was then that he thought he heard Karen's stomach growling, which made her blush with embarrassment. "Going off your stomach, I'm guessing you'll want to eat first before we go do anymore interviews."

Karen looked at her watch. _Shit, it's Noon already. It's lunchtime._ Time really had flown by while they were staking out the bar in the Presidential. As they walked along the next block, she began formulating a list of potential lunch spots that they could go to. She knew several excellent restaurants that she'd been to with Ellison for business meetings, but none of them felt appropriate right now.  _And I've just gotten Matt back so..._ A mischievous smile spread across her face as an idea popped into her head.

"How about that Indian place we went for our first date?"

A matching smile broke across Matt's face. "Lead the way, Karen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It was hard for me to interpret Matt's hallucinations of Fisk and whether or not his responses to what the imaginary Fisk says are things he's saying out loud or just in his head. I'm just assuming they're in his head because let's face it, no one's looking at Matt funny as to why he's having a conversation with thin air. 
> 
> 2\. In the actual show, Donovan doesn't have any bodyguards of any sort. I personally felt this was kind of strange as Donovan is a very connected mob lawyer (who used to work for Mariah alongside his current work with Fisk, and also has repped Cockroach), and as Dave Kleinfeld from Carlito's Way is any indication, I figure he's been subjected to his fair share of assassination attempts. (Which is another reason he's brought Lee onboard in the Fisk operation; Danny Johnson has said in interviews that the main reason Donovan recruited Lee was as a security precaution, due to Fisk's habit of shooting the messengers)
> 
> 3\. This chapter was originally part of chapter 3 when I was writing it, but I noticed before submitting that this meant Chapter 3 would be at least twice as long as the first two chapters, at over 21,000 words, so I split it into two chapters of 10,000 words each.


	5. Food and Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen decide to check on new sources for information about the Albanians' attack. Karen makes a shocking discovery about the kidnapping story she's covering.

From Fifth Avenue-53rd Street, Matt and Karen boarded the M train, and traveled downtown to Broadway-Lafayette Street on the Lower East Side. After that, it was a one stop hop on the F train over to Second Avenue, then a five block walk up First Avenue to the restaurant on Sixth Street.  During the ride, Karen felt surprisingly relaxed and at peace, though she chalked that up to Matt’s spontaneous kiss in the middle of the sidewalk.

The short walk from the subway station to the restaurant was relaxing, the two of them walking slowly, hands intertwined, taking in the fresh afternoon air of the East Village. As they made their way up the street, it was easy for the two to forget that they were in the midst of investigating Fisk, or that they’d just beaten the shit out of Fisk’s lawyer and gotten him to reveal important information about the agreement Fisk had made with the FBI.

Matt spent the walk focused on Karen’s heartbeat, thinking about what she’d said at the hotel while they’d been waiting for Donovan to show up. He was touched by what she’d said about how lost and lonely she’d felt with his absence, to the point that she’d tried to get a mad bomber to try and kill her. No wonder she’d moved into his apartment, or her instinct upon seeing him alive was to have sex with him. Aside from a few skips in her heartbeat while he was roughing up Donovan, she seemed to be taking everything in stride.

Karen, when she wasn’t focused on weaving them through pedestrian traffic, was watching Matt’s face, wondering what he was thinking about. He was softly smiling, looking just as much at peace as she was. She felt an ache in her heart knowing that she’d eventually have to shatter whatever image of innocence he thought of her, but reasoned it would be for the best.

They eventually made it to the Indian restaurant and up the set of stairs to the entrance. They were seated at a booth near the middle of the restaurant, not too far from the booth where they had been seated here over a year ago when they had their first date.

They’d both been here enough times that they didn’t need the menus (not even the braille copies). In time, they were presented with what Matt felt was the best curry on the planet.

“I have to say, I’m sorry we didn’t get to do this sooner,” he said. “Going out on dates. Teaming up like this.”

“Me too,” Karen said wistfully.

Matt chuckled. “I mean, we promised way back during Frank’s trial before everything went to pieces that we would go on a second date.”

“Yeah we did,” she mused. “Although if I’m to be technical, this is our third date.”

“Third?”

“We had that lunch date after the Aaron James verdict,” she clarified.

Matt laughed. “It’s not a date if you’re conducting business,” he said.

“Yes, but…we ate lunch! We had coffee! That makes it a date!” Karen protested.

“You asked me out because you wanted an interview from me!” Matt exclaimed, in mock protest.

Karen laughed. “I wanted to make it more formal and casual!” she said. Once her laughter subsided, she added, in a tone that made it sound like she was ashamed to admit it, “Plus, I wanted to spend more time with you. I didn’t want just a five minute interview.”

Matt leaned across the table and squeezed her hand.

“You did, huh?”

“I meant it when I said I felt we just needed time to figure ourselves out,” she said. “All this time apart has allowed me to get a much better perspective on where I want to stand in your life.”

“I think we now both know what that answer is,” he said with that smile that always made her insides melt. He paused and took a few more bites of his curry.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I could do that fulltime,” Karen replied, putting her cutlery down and idly looking down at her fingers. As much as she knew that violent interrogations were routine in Matt’s line of work, as much as she was braced for it, it still made her a little uneasy, even if she knew Donovan fully deserved it. At the very least, it was much easier for her to watch compared to Frank’s brutal torture and killing of those two men the Blacksmith had sent to that diner. Even then, it was still hard to watch.

“I know that what happened at the parking garage didn’t necessarily…go over well with you,” Matt said quietly, sensing her discomfort.

Karen narrowed her eyes at Matt, trying to formulate a response. "I just…that whole bit with you torturing him…” she took a deep breath. “I'm just not used to seeing that shit up close and personal.” Matt started to open his mouth to say something. “I do get that it was necessary, Matt. You don’t have to say that."

Matt didn't reply right away. He was amazed that Karen was willing to stay by his side in spite of seeing the worst part of his dark side. He couldn’t help but compare her reaction at the parking garage to how Claire had reacted when he tortured Semyon on her rooftop. Claire had been helpful, telling Matt what optical nerve to prod at to get Semyon to give up where the Ranskahovs were holding that little boy, but still was pretty disturbed by his attitude towards the whole routine.

"Does it ever get to you?" she asked, nervously. "Hurting people? Not just bad guys, but also good guys who are just doing their job?"

"It's a means to an end," Matt said. After a brief pause, he added, "Okay. Yeah. It takes a toll. It’s part of why I seek confessionals with Father Lantom."

They sat in awkward silence, picking at their curry for the next few minutes.

"So,” Karen said, seeking to change the subject, “You talked at the hotel about hoping to one day reopen Nelson & Murdock. But…do you have any intentions of resuming your solo law practice? ‘Cause you were brilliant with the Aaron James case, even doing it solo. And you’re brilliant at giving speeches.”

Matt thought about it. “I suppose I’ll have to. I’m considering negotiating plea deals for any witnesses against Fisk that we find. I’ll also have to check my existing clientele to see who’s still willing to hire me in spite of my three-month long sabbatical.” He cringed as he remembered that right before the whole Hand mess, Foggy had deferred a number of his cases to him. He felt bad about the fact that he’d had to let down a bunch of people who desperately needed help, on account of being "dead" and all. “Might be the only way I can get Foggy to take me back as a law partner.”

Truth be told, Matt meant every word he said, but a lot of these steps would have to wait until _after_ they took down Fisk. What Matt had realized over the course of the past two years was that one area he needed a lot of improvement in was his time management skills. When Elektra showed up and she and Stick roped him into their war with the Hand, that was happening at the same time he was supposed to be dealing with Frank’s trial. Having two equally demanding commitments, one from each of his identities, took its toll on him and Matt blamed that as the reason he wasn’t able to give the trial his all. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Claire, who said he was “burning the candle at both ends” at one point. Once things had quieted down, he’d decided to focus on getting his life back in order, which was among several reasons he’d decided to quit Daredevil to be a fulltime pro bono lawyer. And that was how things lasted until Midland Circle.

Now that he was back, Matt wanted to pick up where he left off as far as his law career was concerned. But he knew that would be pretty difficult so long as Fisk posed a threat to him, Karen and Foggy. Given Fisk’s immense power and his physical strength, he was the sort of problem that required Matt’s complete attention as both Matt Murdock and as Daredevil. He couldn’t let other clients’ cases get in the way of that. Or at the very least, cases that required major time commitments.

“That’s a lot of commitment you have on your plate, Matt,” Karen said quietly. “What about Daredevil? Are you still gonna keep on doing that even after we put Fisk away?”

“I have to,” he said. Karen didn’t seem surprised by his response. “I can handle it, Karen. Even though I don’t have my armor anymore. What happened at Midland Circle, with the Hand, that was..." He sighed.  "I’m not typically going after people like that. Multi-centenarians seeking immortality juice.” He laughed as a thought crossed his mind. “It’s funny, but going up against Fisk again, I feel like I’m back in familiar waters, which could make things easier for me. Or harder, depending on what Fisk has up his sleeves this time.”

Karen, still subdued, made a wordless sound of agreement.

“Coming out of that pit, I feel like I’ve been born again,” Matt said, “I’m a whole new man. One that’s going to find a balance between my two lives, and not let either one of them take over completely. I’ve had enough time to realize that giving up my legal career wasn’t the answer. And neither was deciding to give up being Daredevil.”

He leaned in again.

“I know that I lied to you that day, when I said I felt Daredevil was like this completed chapter of my life. But I was in complete denial with myself, I didn't want to face it-”

“Don’t stop doing it, Matt,” she insisted, “Daredevil is good for this town. You’re helping people whether you’re a lawyer or a vigilante." She rolled her shoulders and exhaled. "Look, I know we should believe the NYPD will be there to help us and that the courts will always make the correct rulings, but I’m more realistic than that. And if there’s any lessons I’ve been taught these last few years, it’s the harsh realities of how unfair the justice system can be. You defend the innocent and helpless as a lawyer. And Daredevil is there to ensure that scumbags like Fisk and his brethren can’t buy their way out of justice.”

Matt smiled with approval. “I know,” he said softly. He knew that Karen had always held Daredevil in a higher regard than Foggy had. When Fisk was smearing his alter ego in the days after the bombings, Karen seemed to be the only one willing to speak up in Daredevil’s defense, whereas Foggy seemed inclined to buy into Fisk’s propaganda. At the time though, Matt hadn’t felt that Karen would hold such praise for Daredevil forever, figuring it would end the moment she learned the truth about his secret.  He blamed that, though, on how Foggy had reacted when he found out. That had led him to worry that Karen wouldn’t react as well as she ultimately had. It had taken a few weeks afterwards to realize how stupid it was to think Karen would have a bad reaction. He’d willingly chosen to tell her his secret. Compared to Foggy or Claire, who had to find out under the most stressful circumstances possible. Or Father Lantom, Stick, and Elektra, who’d figured it out on their own.

“You’re not alone, Matt,” Karen said, leaning over the table to kiss him, “You never have to take on this big burden all by yourself.”

“I’ve had time to realize that too,” Matt chuckled, pulling away from Karen. “It’s why I reached out to you last night for help bringing down Fisk. I need someone who understands my dark side, what I need to do, and I don’t have that now that Elektra is gone.”

He stiffened as he realized the name he’d just mentioned. While he’d been over the basics of his relationship with Elektra when he first came clean with Karen, he didn’t really go into much detail. To his credit, though, Matt did have a legitimate reason for this, as Elektra had just died—for the first time at any rate—and dwelling on it would’ve been too painful. All he’d told Karen was that Elektra was an ex-girlfriend of his, that she and Stick had enlisted him into fighting the Yakuza, that she’d been injured that one time Karen came over and found her in Matt’s bed, and that she’d died helping Matt fight Nobu on that roof. He wondered whether this was an appropriate topic to discuss right now, when they should be focused on bringing down Fisk. But after a brief consideration, he decided to just cut to the chase, figuring that disclosing the truth would be beneficial to his partnership with Karen, both professionally and romantically.

“What was it like between you two?” Karen asked. She sounded more curious than anything, like a reporter conducting an interview. “Between you and Elektra?”

“Do you want the short hand version or the long one?” Matt asked.

“The long one,” she answered, sipping at her wine. “How did you two meet?”

Matt took a deep breath. “We met at Columbia during my second year, and we hit it off pretty quickly. I don’t know how to properly describe the connection but… she was like fire: beautiful but destructive. Stand to close and you get burned. I had to learn that the hard way.”

“You said it was a reckless relationship," Karen said. She vaguely remembered Foggy saying that Matt nearly failed a semester because of his relationship with Elektra.

He took a deep breath. "By which I meant we were stealing Lamborghinis, breaking into fancy mansions, getting all down and dirty on the ring mat at Fogwell's.” Karen burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” Karen asked. _You and Elektra had sex in the ring at Fogwell's? That sounds very unsanitary._

"Yeah, that actually happened," Matt said, "It's how she tricked me into revealing my abilities. And it was…fun. She knew about them, didn’t judge me for them. There was this…kinda freedom to being with her. She accepted who I was. I just didn’t know there was more to it, that a lot of it had been an act on her part.”

Karen should have felt angry at what Matt was saying to her. But right now, she felt nothing more than empathy for him. Every word he said was striking a chord of _me too_ within her.

“An act?” Karen asked, quietly, suppressing the memories of Todd and Kevin that were boiling beneath the surface.

“It turned out Stick had trained her as well and had sent her to the college to seduce me into his war,” Matt said quietly. It had pained him when he learned just how much of their relationship had been built on false pretenses at her end, it still did. “I should’ve seen the red flags.”

“…what happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “One night, she took me to this mansion up in Westchester County,” he said softly. “We bantered a bit about our plans for the future. Then I found out that the place belonged to Roscoe Sweeney. Not only that, but she knew about his connection to me.”

“That’s the guy you said was behind your father’s murder,” Karen interjected.

“Yes, and she knew all about it,” Matt finished. He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “She wanted me to kill him, as some sort of test for Stick.”

“Holy shit…” Karen gasped, covering her mouth. She caught herself. This was not the place to get dramatic. She quickly composed herself and cleared her throat. “Ahem. You didn’t go through with it?”

“I wanted to. God, sometimes I wonder what would’ve become of me if I did. But I didn’t. I refused to go through with it, and she dumped me right there and then. I didn’t see her again until last year, when she showed up in my apartment. It was on the night that Frank was arrested, actually.”

 _The night that we had our first kiss in the rain,_ Karen realized. “What did she want?” she asked.

“She claimed she needed a lawyer to help her with some sort of financial matter,” he replied, “It was all lies by omission, actually. She’d been sent by Stick once again to draw me into his war with the Hand.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her no. That I wasn’t interested in any trip down memory lane she was interested in.”

Karen fidgeted with one of her hands. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume she refused to accept your no.”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t, but she knew how to carefully manipulate me to Stick’s side, she knew how to push all my buttons.” Matt took a deep breath. “Do you remember that deposit we received at the office the next morning?” He could sense Karen nodding. “That was from Elektra. She wanted me to break into this safe at the Yakatomi Building during some gala the following night and steal a ledger with information on the Hand’s illegal activities.”

Karen was making a valiant effort to maintain her composure as she put the pieces together. So _that_ was who had sent that driver to pick up Matt while they were at Metro-General talking to Frank, and where Matt had been during that time. “So that’s why you missed out on Frank’s arraignment? To go do some tuxedo-and-martini mission?”

Matt let out a rather hearty laugh. He never really thought much about it, but yeah, Elektra had commissioned a tux for him and they were using a gala as cover to steal the ledger. “I don’t watch a lot of movies. Unless Foggy’s around, or there's descriptive audio.”

“And every time where you went missing on us during the trial, you were helping her?” she asked, softly.

“Yes,” Matt said , “And again, I still feel deeply sorry that I dumped that case in your lap and forced you and Foggy to handle it all by yourself.”

Karen sighed cautiously, knowing that the next question would be treading on eggshells. “I know, Matt. And I accept the apology. But…what about that day I came over and found her in your bed? You didn’t say much other than that she’d been injured.”

Matt rubbed his face. _Right, that was the only time Karen ever got to see Elektra face-to-face_. “The Hand were using Fisk to acquire the lot on which Elena’s tenement used to be located, so they could construct Midland Circle. Elektra and I went there checking out a lead and we found them digging a giant hole in the ground about 400 feet deep. We were ambushed by a bunch of ninjas, and she got stabbed. Stick showed up and he and I brought her back to my apartment so he could treat her. He knew the antidote to reverse the poison. She was still resting when you came by.”

“You know, Foggy actually thought you were fooling around with her,” Karen said. Matt looked stunned. Then again, he knew Foggy had thought for the longest period of time Matt was spending his nights in the arms of gorgeous paralegals. Hell, when Foggy first found out Matt had a burner, he suspected Matt was using it for his various one-night stands.  “When I told him about what I’d seen, he didn’t look surprised. Actually, he told me that he felt he should have given me a warning.”

“Did you really mean what you said after the trial, when you accused me of sleeping with a harem of women?”

“No!” she replied defensively. Matt gave her an odd look through his glasses that Karen took as his way of asking her to clarify. She sighed. “Well, okay, you were flaking out on the trial, and Frank had blown his defense on the stand and I was angry about that, and…I guess it was easier for me to vent at you than to consider what you were trying to tell us, that someone had gotten to Frank. I suppose I probably owe you an apology for that.  But what about before that?” _I know you told me you hadn’t been sleeping with her then. But I just  want to be certain, were you two-timing us? Sleeping with her while dating me?_

“No,” he replied tightly, “As I told you, I never slept with her at all during the time I was dating you.”

 “Right, so… ” She bit her lip. “What happened after that?”

“Elektra recovered, if that’s what you were asking,” Matt continued, “We parted ways for a bit, but eventually ended up reconvening. Until that night that the Hand kidnapped you, Turk, and all those other people. They wanted Elektra because she was the Black Sky, whatever the hell that was.”

He paused, trying to get his bearings. “I was prepared to run away with her. In fact, I told her that that’s what we’d do if we made it out alive. I’d made a mess of my relationships with you and with Foggy. And Elektra, she didn’t have anyone who saw her as more than a cold blooded killer and I was practically the only one convinced there was more to her than that. She threw herself in front of Nobu to stop him from killing me with one of her sais.” He took a deep breath. “She died in my arms, that night.  Frank killed Nobu’s backup. And Stick decapitated Nobu.”

“Matt, I’m… sorry...” she said, her face paling. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” In truth, she did have an idea what it had been like for Matt. She fought back tears as painful images of Kevin’s dead body flashed through her mind, hanging upside down in the Jeep, bloodied and battered.

“I didn’t even succeed at stopping the Hand. All that, and I only touched a small subfaction of the Hand. They had other factions in the city I didn’t even know about.” He gulped. “I had tried to do so much, and failed at all of it. We’d tried to get justice for Frank and he got out. And I found out that Fisk was running the prison where he was being held, rendering all our work on him worthless…” He stopped mid-sentence, once again remembering Fisk’s threats to him in the prison.

“I understand,” she said quietly, putting a hand on Matt’s, thinking he was dwelling on Elektra’s first death, “I know what it’s like to feel like, being stretched far and thin, insisting on taking the weight of the world on your shoulders and that only you can solve everything. What it’s like when you feel there’s only one person who understands you.” That had been an apt description of Karen’s life for the year between when her mother died and the car accident in which she’d killed Kevin. With Kevin only being 16, and her dad being terrible with money, it had fallen on Karen to do the books. With the benefit of hindsight, she’d realized that it was the stress of having to be the mom of the family business that led to her turning to heroin, and hooking up with Todd, for an escape. For the better portion of that year, Todd was the only person she knew who cared about her feelings, and never tried forcing her to be something she wasn't. Yet he also corrupted her in the process, and looking back on it, it hadn’t taken long for her to become his accomplice, going along with him to local colleges to deal drugs at frat parties.  Kevin’s death served as a wakeup call to her about how destructive her new lifestyle was. It seemed to mirror what Matt had described regarding his relationship with Elektra in many ways.

Matt cleared his throat. “Months later, the Hand brought her back from the dead.”

Karen stared at him, her mouth gaping with surprise and disbelief. _People can’t come back from the dead._ “She came back?” she asked. “That’s impossible.”

  
“I know it sounds hard to believe, Karen, but the Hand had somehow revived her. And she had no memory of who she was.” The words began flowing out of his mouth. “The Hand leader, Alexandra, she turned Elektra into her own personal assassin. I tried to get her to remember who I was…and…she killed Stick.” He paused. His whole body tensed up, remembering that night. Remembering how Elektra held a katana to Stick’s throat; how she didn’t hesitate to kill him the instant Matt showed up. Matt fought back a lump that was forming in his throat, and Karen could see a tear forming out of the corner of one of his eyes. She once again reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’m sorry about Stick,” she said, quietly, “You said he meant a lot to you.”

When he’d disclosed his secret to Karen, Matt had told her about Stick but not much beyond “he taught me how to fight.”

“It’s hard to really…describe it,” he finally said, “It wasn’t just fighting he taught me. He taught me how to properly use my senses, how to focus and not be overloaded by everything I can’t see. If it weren’t for him, I probably would be doomed to a life in Birch Psychiatric.” He chuckled bitterly. “I also desperately needed a father figure, and there he was. If only I’d known he was training me to fight this centuries old cult that was mining dragons under Manhattan…”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, he told me the Cliff Notes version,” he said. He smirked. “The bastard. He also wanted me to not make any real connections with anyone. Especially not with you.”

He recounted a conversation he’d had with Stick in the abandoned Harlem theater after he’d grabbed Karen from her office and taken her to the 29th Precinct. Stick had picked up the scent of Karen’s perfume on Matt’s clothes.

_“If she’s as sweet as she smells,” he said, “I get why you’re tore up about this one."_

“ _Don’t bring her into this,” Matt replied._

“ _All these years, this is what I’ve been protecting you from. Your two worlds colliding."_

_"If you had it your way, this is what my life would be. Now you’re trying to spin it like you’re protecting me.”_

“He really didn’t like you,” Matt stated, plainly.

Karen laughed. Matt couldn’t help but join her. “Sorry,” she said, noticing another patron staring at them, “uh…how exactly did I become public enemy number one to your blind kung-fu master who trained you to fight an ancient cult?”

“He thought me dating you was getting in the way of his war,” he answered, “That’s why he let you in that day when Elektra was injured. He wanted you to see her, think the worst of me, and dump me.”

Karen gave him a face. “What a cockblocker…”

“If I had had my way, I would’ve never let him answer the door, I would’ve talked to you in the hallway,” he replied.

“Say no more, say no more,” Karen waved her hands. Her voice flipped back to serious as she asked, “What about Midland Circle? What happened that night?”

Matt sighed. “I went back to Midland Circle with Luke and Jessica that night. We were going to find Danny, and destroy the building to fill in the pit the Hand had dug underneath. And I intended to make one last effort to get to Elektra.” He gulped. “It turned out she had killed Alexandra and assumed command of the Hand. She had no intention nor any desire to be saved.”

Karen wished she could be angry at Matt for his suicidal choices that night, but she couldn’t. _Glass houses, can’t throw stones._ Matt’s failed efforts to get through to Elektra were reminding her of her failed efforts to get Frank to change, to find methods other than killing, when he had Colonel Schoonover at his mercy in the woods. Following Schoonover’s death, and Frank’s subsequent killing of Carson Wolf on information Karen dug up for him about David Lieberman, Karen resigned herself to accepting that she couldn’t get Frank to renounce killing, thought that wouldn’t mean she wouldn’t continue trying to save his soul if she ever crossed paths with him again.

“I was still trying to reason with her when the building collapsed,” Matt said, “The last thing I remember is that I was holding her, and then I blacked out. Next thing I know, I’m found by a cabbie in a vacant lot and asking for Father Lantom, and there was no Elektra there.”

 _If Matt survived Midland Circle, surely Elektra had to, shouldn't she?_ “Do you think Elektra got out?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Matt shrugged. “And if she did, I have no intentions of seeking her out again. She’s not the woman I fell in love with in college.” He took a deep breath. _Boy, that was an awful lot to get through…_

Karen felt surprisingly relieved by Matt’s answer about Elektra. Though she had to admit, it made her a wee bit more anxious about her own secrets. She wasn't exactly the person Matt believed she was either, and unlike Elektra, her secrets were ones that could come back to kill them both.

  
“Well thank you for telling me, Matt,” she said, faintly. “I can't say that I've never been in the same place as you, but…I get it. I can't judge you for that. And I get why you did what you did for Elektra, even if I don't like what it did to you, me, and Foggy."

With Elektra discussed and that old issue resolved, Matt and Karen were free to move on to happier topics, anything that would allow them to distract themselves from the fact that they’d have to resume their investigation of Fisk when the meal was over.  One such topic popped into Karen's head right away: she remembered how she described the tacky chili pepper lights on the ceiling the first time they’d been here, and wondered how they registered on Matt’s heightened senses.

“When we came here for our first date, you had me describe the décor to you,” she said, taking another sip of her drink, “How I saw it. But what do _you_ see? What are your special senses telling you?”

“Well I can definitely feel the heat from each of the individual chili peppers. Not a euphemism!” he said, laughing.

* * *

It was 2:00 pm by the time Matt and Karen freed themselves from the restaurant and began making their way back to the Second Avenue station, ready to head to the FBI offices to talk to the agent in charge of Fisk’s transfer from Rikers to the Presidential Hotel. Thankfully, Karen had memorized the subway map and knew the fastest way to get to their destination. They took another one stop scoot east on the F train to Delancey/Essex Streets. From there, they transferred to the J train and took that three stops to Chambers Street, near City Hall.  

The Jacob K. Javits Federal Building at 26 Federal Plaza was a looming 41 story skyscraper that towered over Foley Square, dating back to the late 1960s. Karen liked to nickname it as the “Fed’s Fortress”, because it was where a lot of federal government agencies had their offices here. These included the Social Security Administration, General Services Administration, the New York City field office for Citizenship and Immigration Services, and field offices for both the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI. Karen had been to the DHS offices the previous November, when she’d been questioned by Dinah Madani about Frank Castle after he interrupted a gun sting that Madani had been running in Red Hook. She had yet to visit the FBI offices at the 23rd floor. This was the largest FBI field office outside of the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC, large enough to have an Assistant Director. After going through a security screening, which included an X-ray scan, pat down, and full body scan, during which Karen had to declare all weapons on her, they were escorted to a conference room. To give the impression they weren’t a couple, Karen took hold of Matt’s elbow to ‘guide’ him. This also allowed Matt to focus on what he heard as they were escorted through the bullpen. Karen remained uncharacteristically silent, as if sensing that something had caught Matt’s attention and that he was focusing elsewhere. 

The conference room that Matt and Karen were escorted to was nothing too fancy. It had a large marble table in the middle, with about a half-dozen rolling chairs on either side of the table. The wall on one side was occupied by several framed photographs of FBI buildings, including the Javits Building. The wall opposite it was occupied by a corkboard which contained a series of mugshots. Karen recognized these mugshots as those of “Mother Teresa” and his associates. The far wall was comprised of floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto Foley Square and the Financial District.

“This brings back memories,” Karen said as she and Matt sat down in adjacent chairs at the center of the table.

“What do you mean?” Matt asked.

Karen leaned in, and in a softer voice, she said, “I’ve been in this building before. Not this floor specifically, but…”

Matt picked up one of her hands and held it nimbly between his.

After about ten minutes, the conference room door opened, as Agent Tammy Hattley walked in. She stood about 5’8”, with her red hair tied back in a ponytail, and was beginning to show a few wrinkles on her face. With the black pantsuit she was wearing, she cast an obvious aura of authority. 

“Mr. Murdock, Miss Page,” she said, “I'm Special Agent in Charge Tammy Hattley.” 

Matt and Karen stood up and individually shook Hattley’s hand. “I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting,” she said. 

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Karen smiled, “This is something you feds do, right? A little gentle intimidation? Madani's done the same thing for me downstairs.” 

That earned a chuckle from Matt.  

“I have no intentions of intimidating you, Miss Page,” Hattley replied.

“It’s Karen,” Karen said, with her most polite tone.  Hattley sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table from Matt and Karen. Karen could tell that the Special Agent in Charge hadn’t had a very good morning. She had circles under her eyes and there was an almost imperceptible lilt in her voice.  Clearly she hadn't slept a wink at all, dealing with her agents being killed.

“I do have to say, this is…” she paused. “This is most highly irregular, Miss Page. I mean, you’re not under arrest, you’re not even a person of interest in any cases here, and yet you still brought a lawyer along.” 

“That’s true,” Matt spoke up, “It is unusual. But I’m a major source of information for the story Karen is writing, and…we—we…” He sighed. “Well we just came from lunch. And my schedule’s clear for the day, so I figured I’d fill the time by giving Karen a helping hand…” He waved his hand dismissively. 

Hattley smirked just slightly and said, and said, “Well what can I do for you?” 

“You look like you haven’t slept well, Agent Hattley.”

“Oh, please, I'm fine,” she lied.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the loss of five agents who were transporting Wilson Fisk to the Presidential Hotel last night, would it?” Matt asked. 

“You're very well-informed,” Hattley said.

“I do imagine our jobs aren't that dissimilar,” Karen said, “I mean, we're only as good as the information we are provided.”

“Is this a story you intend to run?”

“Maybe,” Karen said coyly, writing in her notepad, “Would you care to comment about last night?”

“Miss Page, you strike me as someone people would tend to trust,” Hattley said, crossing her arms.

“What do you not trust me to do?” Karen asked.

“Maybe hold off on reporting until we make an official press release,” Hattley replied.

“We know that Fisk gave up the Albanians as part of a deal with a deal he struck with Ray Nadeem, one of your agents,” Matt said, bluntly, “Did he make the deal to get charges against his girlfriend Vanessa Marianna thrown out?”

Karen narrowed her eyes as she observed the expression on Hattley’s face. Hattley’s eyes widened a smidge and Karen thought she saw some blood drain out of her cheeks. She took this as a sign that Donovan’s information was accurate.

Hattley leaned back in her chair, looking at them contemplatively. For a moment Matt was sure she was going to refuse to tell them anything about the deal. But then she seemed to make some sort of  decision, and sighed wearily.

“This is off the record?” she asked.

“Of course,” Karen said, smiling softly.

Hattley sighed. “Yes, as part of the deal he made with our office, accessory charges against Miss Marianna are being dismissed. That stays between us, of course." There was a tense pause before she asked, "Who told you that information?”

“Mmm…” Karen twirled her pen in her hand. _I’m not telling you._

Matt leaned over and whispered into Karen’s ear, “Don’t answer that.” He turned to Hattley. "Why do you ask?"

“Some guy in a mask attacked Fisk’s lawyer outside his car in a parking garage about three hours ago. He beat up about a half-dozen of my agents and then escaped. Donovan claimed the man was asking about Vanessa Marianna."

Karen felt her heart racing. Had Donovan told the FBI agents in the garage about her presence? “No, I--Why would I?”

“If you're suggesting this masked individual is in league with me or Karen, you are mistaken,” Matt answered. He couldn’t have an FBI agent poking around looking for connections that might lead to them finding out his secret identity, especially now, when the Fisk investigation was in such a delicate stage. “But let’s get back to OUR question: what does the FBI have on Vanessa Marianna?” He still was curious what exactly the Feds had on Vanessa, or for that matter, how deeply involved Vanessa had been in Fisk’s organization.

Hattley sighed. “Vanessa Marianna was heavily involved in Fisk’s organization before he was arrested,” she said.  
  
“She was an art gallery owner,” Matt said, “I don’t see why she'd be the subject of an arrest warrant.”  
  
Hattley narrowed her eyes at Matt. “Lots of seemingly innocuous people can turn out to be cold-hearted criminals in private. Look at what happened to SHIELD.”  
  
“Was Vanessa an active participant in Fisk’s crimes?” Matt asked, stroking his chin.  
  
“There was no evidence to suggest she did, but our office did consider it suspicious that she fled the United States not too long after her fiancé got taken down.”  
  
“My sources say that Fisk found out that your people were going to be pinning accessory charges against her if she ever set foot in the United States again," Karen said.  
  
Hattley stroked her chin as she contemplated a response. “That was out of our hands. This office considered Miss Marianna a person of interest but she was not a priority for us. Especially given that the US Attorney gained enough evidence through the plea deals from Carl Hoffman, Parish Landman, and Senator Cherryh to get Fisk convicted on five RICO counts, all in spite of the deaths of James Wesley and Leland Owlsley.”  
  
Karen unconsciously flinched again, at the mention of Wesley’s name.  
  
“You okay, Karen?” Matt asked quietly.  
  
Karen swallowed. _There I go again, tensing up every time Wesley’s name is mentioned._ “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“What about the FBI’s recent involvement?” Matt spoke up, shifting in his chair. “How did the Albanians come into this?”  
  
Hattley rubbed her temple. “We’ve been sending agents out to Rikers on a regular basis to interview Fisk. It’s a shit errand, but we’d been trying to get him to give up information that could help us make progress on open investigations into other organizations we’ve been trying to take down. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been very cooperative.”  
  
“He’s a gangster,” Matt replied, “The code of Omerta says that they never snitch to law enforcement. And there are penalties for snitching.”  
  
“I’m quite familiar with Omerta, Mr. Murdock,” Hattley said, annoyed. “That’s why it was quite unusual when I was told that Fisk agreed to inform on the Albanians.”  
  
“How did that happen?” Karen asked, writing in her notepad.  
  
“Somehow Ray Nadeem was able to get him to open up,” Hattley rolled her shoulders  
  
Matt straightened up, realizing they had an opening to talk about Nadeem.  
  
“Tell us more,” he said.  
  
“Two weeks ago,” Hattley explained, “I sent him to visit Fisk. I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it, but lo and behold, Nadeem comes waltzing back in here saying that Fisk is going to sell out the Albanians in exchange for Miss Marianna’s charges being expunged.”  
  
“Why would your office even be willing to consider working a deal with Fisk?” Karen asked, incredulously. “He killed a bunch of your agents when he tried to escape custody after his initial arrest.”  
  
Hattley pursed her lips. “Look, I didn’t like that this intel was coming from Fisk, but these Albanians, they’re like the Stylers. You’re on the crime beat, right, Miss Page? You know what they’ve done.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Karen said, a hint of agitation bubbling beneath the surface, “The US Attorney told me himself. Several dead cops, a truckload of civilian murders, political corruption, lots of gun, drug, and human smuggling…”  
  
“We’d been trying to bring these guys down for seven years with no success,” Hattley replied, “And on Fisk’s information, we got the leadership in the span of just six hours.”  
  
Karen wrote something down in her notepad.  
  
“So in other words, you’re using Fisk to catch bigger fish,” Matt observed.  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
“Did this deal include transferring Fisk to the Presidential Hotel?” Karen asked.  
  
Hattley shook her head. “That wasn’t in the agreement Fisk and his lawyers presented to us. We only moved Fisk there for his own protection.”  
  
“I heard there was a shanking,” Matt said, “Someone tried to shank Fisk in prison.”  
  
“Apparently the Albanians have people in Riker’s,” Hattley sighed, “Headed by a guy named Vic Jusufi. He put the word out that Fisk was a snitch. They got someone to shank him yesterday morning while he was working out in the recreation room. Fortunately, Fisk managed to subdue the guy before the guards broke it up.”  
  
“Did you get the inmate’s name?” Karen asked, writing down.  
  
“It was some lifer,” Hattley shrugged, “We didn’t get his name. Anyways, it was clear that Fisk wasn’t safe in prison, so we needed to move him to a safer location to continue monitoring him until we can be certain he’s out of harms’ way.”  
  
“Mmm-hmmm,” Karen wrote in her notepad, “And who in the FBI thought it was a smart idea to put Fisk up in the Presidential Hotel? Surely the FBI has other safehouses that are much less prolific.”  
  
“I’m pretty they have special housing units in the prison system,” Matt added.  
   
“My boss gave explicit directions,” Hattley replied.  
  
“And who’s your boss?” Karen asked.  
  
Hattley paused. Matt could sense her heartrate change slightly. “That would be Assistant Director Molly Van Richtofen.”  
  
“And what was Van Richtofen’s reasoning behind this decision?”  
  
“The penthouse in the Presidential was seized by the government by some Wall Street broker that was convicted of fraud last year.” Hattley was beginning to sound a little impatient. “It’s been outfitted to serve as a holding area for prisoners like Fisk who are at high risk of assassination. It's got cameras all over, and all visitors must pass through a metal detector before entering.”  
  
“Okay…” Karen said, writing down information in her notepad. “Well what about the ambush?” There was a look of discomfort on Hattley’s face. “Don’t worry, you’ll be anonymous. I’m just taking notes for Ellison’s benefit.”  
  
It took a moment for Hattley to come up with a response. Matt had a hard time deciding whether she was trying to recount information, or whether or not she should tell them this information to begin with.  
  
“I was in charge of arranging the details for Fisk’s transfer from the prison to the hotel,” she said, “It was supposed to be a pretty routine operation. Just drive Fisk from , don’t stop for lights, or nothing. But the Albanians, they somehow found out about our planned route and when we’d be moving Fisk.” She stopped, and inhaled deeply, before continuing. “They used rocket launchers to take out the escort cars. Then they moved in and shot the agents as they were rushing to protect Fisk.”  
  
“How is Fisk still alive?” Matt asked, “Clearly they didn’t succeed in killing everyone.”  
  
“One of the SWAT agents on the detail, he was able to free himself from his car and he killed every single one of the attackers.”  
  
“His name?” Karen asked.  
  
Hattley leaned back in her chair and fidgeted with her fingers. “Will you not say anything bad about him in your paper? You people have a reputation for tearing down honest cops that use lethal force.”  
  
Karen scoffed. “I’m not most reporters, Agent Hattley. I just report the cold, hard facts, as they are. I don’t spin them to fit some anti-cop agenda. Hell, I’m friends with Dinah Madani in Homeland downstairs…”  
  
Hattley bit her lip and responded, “Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter,” she said. “He’s a SWAT sniper. He took out every single one of them.”  
  
“All by himself?” Matt asked, incredulous.  
  
“I’d like to meet him,” Karen said.  
  
“He’s been on babysitting duty for Fisk all day,” Hattley said, “He won’t be off until tonight.”  
  
“I’ll make a note to talk to him,” Karen said, writing down the heroic agent’s name.  
  
“He’s not the type that does interviews,” Hattley replied. Karen looked up at her. “Just thought you might wanna be aware.” She checked her watch. “Is that all? I got a meeting with the Mayor in a half hour.”  
  
Karen flipped her notepad shut and stuffed it back in her purse. “No, that should be about it,” Matt said. He forced himself to smile as he and Karen stood up. “Thank you for your time, Agent Hattley. Karen?” He motioned in the direction of the door.  
  
It took Karen a moment to register Matt was talking to her and was gesturing for her to take him by the elbow, for appearances’ sake.  
  
“Right! Okay…” Karen took Matt by the elbow and led him out of the conference room, headed back towards the elevators. Matt could feel Hattley’s piercing stare in their direction as they exited.  
  
Exiting the FBI building, Karen checked her watch and saw it was 3:10 pm. _Christ, that hour flew by very quickly. At this rate, it’s going to be nightfall by the time we have our interview with Neda_ , she thought, even though sunset wouldn’t be for another two hours.   

* * *

Getting to Neda’s Upper West Side penthouse wasn’t going to be very easy, especially with the southern part of Manhattan being where the subway lines all criss-crossed with one another. Karen stopped briefly to check the MTA app on her phone and figure out the fastest route to their destination. Said route involved taking three different trains. First, they had to take the 4 train from Brooklyn Bridge one stop down to Fulton Street. Then it was a long ride uptown on the 2 express train to 72nd Street, then backtrack on the local 1 train one stop to 66th Street-Lincoln Center. 

As they made their way back to the subway, Matt felt another question niggling at the back of his mind. Something was bothering him about Agent Hattley’s behavior, but he didn’t know what it was. He didn’t dare ask until they were on the 2 train and leaving Chambers Street. 

“You okay?” Karen asked, looking at Matt as the train pulled out of Chambers Street. “You’ve been acting funny ever since we left the FBI building.” 

"Did you notice anything unusual back there?” Matt asked. 

Now that she thought of it, Karen did notice Hattley perspiring when they asked about the decision to lodge Fisk in the Presidential. 

“Now that you mention it,” she said, “She did seem a bit flustered by that question about the Presidential.” An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind. “What are you saying?”

“Well I’m either having palpitations, or there might be some people in the FBI who are working for Fisk,” Matt said, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard by passengers in the crowded car. 

Karen bit her lip, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. “Shit…” This felt like a repeat of their first investigation of Fisk. But even worse. _Much much worse._ It was one thing when Fisk owned cops in the NYPD, as the NYPD were a municipal police department. If he owned senior agents in the FBI, they were royally screwed. The FBI were a federal organization with jurisdiction nationwide. There was no way of telling what Fisk could do with the FBI whilst hiding behind the terms of his informant deal. He could make Matt’s, Karen’s, and Foggy’s lives a living hell. He could use them to threaten or take over any criminal organization that didn’t want to play nice with him. The possibilities were endless, and they terrified Karen. 

“Yeah,” Matt said, bluntly, “Just like last time.”   

“Damn…” Karen cursed. “Who doesn’t Fisk own? He owned the NYPD, probably still does. He owns or at the very least is manipulating the FBI. He owns the courts, the newspapers, the TV stations…it’s like he owns everything.” She exhaled. “It would certainly explain the move to the Presidential Hotel, and why no one in the agency thinks there’s something wrong about it. I should probably write something about it.”

“I don’t know much about journalism, but I know you shouldn’t run a story about the FBI being in Fisk’s pocket,” Matt said, “At least not without more proof.”

Karen sighed. “Yeah, I don’t suppose Ellison’s going to approve of a story where I say the head of the FBI detail is being paid by Fisk without a witness and some proof.” She rolled her eyes. “But where we would even start? There’s at least a couple thousand FBI agents Fisk might have some leverage over.”

“Leverage,” Matt repeated. That was how Fisk usually got people to work for him: he looked for people who had something to lose. He recalled how Healy had reacted after Matt had beaten Fisk’s name out of him. “ _He'll find me and make an example and then he'll find everyone I've ever cared about and do the same to them…so that no one ever does what I just did. You should have just killed me, you coward.”_  
  
“You know, the guard that tried to kill me, Farnum,” Karen said in a low whisper. She swallowed. “When he was strangling me with my bedsheets, he was constantly murmuring ‘I’m sorry,’ into my ear, over and over and over.” She shivered, remembering how close she’d come to dying that night. “I doubt that he’d do that of his own free will. Unless Fisk threatened someone he loved.”

“I think he had a daughter,” Matt replied. He remembered reading the details in one of Brett’s files. “Yeah, I think he had a daughter at Brooklyn College. She was the one who found his body. And I think Brett said something about Farnum owing money to Fisk...”

“If anyone in the FBI’s been threatened into working for Fisk, there must be something or someone that he used to turn them. Friends, family members,” Karen mused, “And it might mean having to go back through several years of articles, ‘cause I doubt Fisk had the resources to begin corrupting anyone while he still was in prison.”

Matt shrugged. “This is Fisk we’re talking about. He probably had plenty of money hidden where the feds couldn’t touch it. And revenue streams that the FBI doesn’t know about.” A look of consternation spread across his face. _Presumably, that was what he was doing in prison._ Fisk had been far from powerless while he was in prison. He had control of the guards and inmates, and had more than likely been responsible for Frank’s escape.

“Matt?” She saw the alarmed expression on his face. When he didn’t respond, she put a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

Matt’s face softened, but only slightly. “I went to see him in prison, Karen.”

“You what?”

“Fisk,” Matt told her, “I visited him in prison, right after Frank escaped. I suspected that Fisk may have been behind it.”

“I know Frank and I highly doubt that he’d ever willingly do something for Fisk,” Karen replied. She couldn't see Frank allying with Fisk under any circumstances.

“Well I think Fisk wanted to get rid of potential rivals and competitors and Frank makes a good proxy,” Matt said, “Karen, he never lost his power. It was just slightly diminished. And when I talked to Fisk, he threatened me. He slammed my head against the table a half dozen times and said he was going to destroy me and Foggy. And you.”

Karen stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. Her heart began racing. “Okay you've absolutely _gotta_ tell Foggy about this,” she said. “He deserves to know!”

Matt sighed. “I know.” He was dreading his impending meeting with Foggy. Foggy didn’t know that he’d been threatened by Fisk during Matt’s visit to the prison. Matt hadn’t bothered telling him or Karen right away because he was a different person at the time. He also had assumed that Fisk didn’t have as much power as he actually had, and it would take some time and effort for Fisk to start coming after him, Karen and Foggy. Clearly he had miscalculated.

“Is that why you chose to reach out to me instead of Foggy first?” Karen asked, “Because if you ask me, Matt, I’m pretty sure Foggy will just be happy to see you again.”

“Foggy has more to lose than I do if Fisk comes after him,” Matt insisted. “He has his family, he has Marci, and he has that cushy job with Jeri Hogarth. That’s a lot of things that could come crashing down.”

Karen nodded. “Then I’m guessing we’ll have a lot of heavy lifting to do.”

* * *

 Neda Kazemi resided in a duplex penthouse within a recently built condominium complex on 63rd Street, between Central Park West and Broadway. It seemed like an appropriate place for a socialite on a reality TV show, Karen thought, as she and Matt rode the elevator up to the 40th floor.

When they got off the elevator, Neda was there, sporting sweatpants and a plain red t-shirt, which nicely complemented her long dark hair. It looked like she’d been lounging around the place all day.

“Karen, this is unexpected,” Neda said.

“Yeah, it is,” Karen shifted her feet, uneasily. “Um, something came up regarding your dad.”

“Yeah, you told me that on the phone,” she replied.

“We figured you’d want to hear it from us in person,” Matt said.

Neda gave a skeptical look at Matt. “Sorry, who are you?”

Karen looked back and forth between Neda and Matt.

“He’s a lawyer,” Karen explained.

Neda looked confused. “Come again?” Like Hattley, she also was confused about Karen doing an interview with a lawyer by her side.

“Neda, my name is Matt Murdock," Matt said, leaning on his cane, "We think there’s more to the attack on your dad. If you could just answer a couple of questions for us, it’d be a most tremendous help.”

Neda shrugged. “Sure…”

She led them into her duplex. This place was spacious, about as spacious as Matt’s apartment. The most striking feature in the open living room/kitchen space was the sweeping panorama of Central Park out the windows to the east.

Matt and Karen took seats on one of the sofas in the living room, facing out towards the windows, as Neda went back and forth from the kitchen, serving them fresh chamomile tea.

“I don't know what you think I could give you,” Neda said, sipping from her tea, “The masked man came to see me at the hospital last night and told me my father’s kidnappers were in custody.” 

“He did, huh?” Matt asked with faux incredulity. 

“Yeah,” Neda shrugged, “Right before the cops and the FBI showed up and booted me out and forced me to go home.”

“Do you know what the cops were doing there?”

“What do I know?” Neda shrugged. “I think I heard a few of them talking about Wilson Fisk.” 

Matt nodded. “Oh, yeah, we heard about him too. It's outrageous he's back on the streets.” 

“You speak of this like you don't like the guy, Mr. Murdock," Neda replied.

“Our uh, our law firm was responsible for exposing him,” he explained, “Putting him away. In fact, we’re actively continuing to pursue leads on him, but Karen felt your story deserves to be seen through to its completion.” 

Neda sipped idly at her tea. After a few minutes of silence, she said, “I don’t know where to start. The masked man told me to go to the 15th Precinct, and I did. And this nice detective, Mahoney, he did a lineup with these guys. I identified every one of them.” 

“Apparently, that’s not the end of it,” Karen said, cautiously. 

Neda looked at her, baffled. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, well, um, Detective Mahoney’s a friend of ours,” Karen looked back and forth between Matt and Neda, “According to him, someone bailed out the men who attacked your father.”  

Neda’s face went pale, blood draining from her face. “They’re out already?!” she asked. “How the hell did that happen?!”  

“These guys who attacked your dad,” Matt said, leaning forward and resting his palms in his lap, “The police don’t think it was random. They think it was a targeted hit.” 

"Does your dad have any enemies?"

Neda shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I really can’t help you there. My dad’s a real estate developer. He makes tons of enemies, and that’s a list long enough that I couldn't name anyone off the top of my head.” 

“Think, Neda, think,” Karen said, softly, “Any recent business deals? Personal friends with grudges?” 

Matt saw this as an opportunity to ask a more leading question. “Was your dad ever involved with Wilson Fisk?”

“What?! No!” Neda exclaimed, staring at Matt in shock. “My dad is a lot of things, but he’s not the type of person who would affiliate with guys who bury people alive in hot cement! What possesses you to insinuate such an idea?!”

“The lawyers who bailed out your dad’s attackers,” Karen explained, “Their names are Benjamin Donovan and Nicholas Lee. And they are known for their…connections to various underworld figures. Including Fisk.”

Neda grimaced, as if those names caused her physical pain.

“You know them?” Karen asked. “Donovan & Partners?”

Neda slowly nodded. “Yeah.”

Karen took out her notepad and began writing. “Did your father ever hire them?”

Neda shook her head and massaged her temple with her thumb. “Never. My dad has an exclusive retainer contract with Jeri Hogarth for his Manhattan holdings.”

Karen wrote the law firm's name down, not that it mattered when she could get in touch with Marci and Foggy later. _  
_

“If I had to guess, did they represent a party that bought a property that your father developed?” Matt asked, biting his tongue.

Neda nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes, they did,” she confirmed, “They bought the Presidential Hotel from him.”

Matt felt his heartrate go up, and he turned his sightless gaze in Karen’s direction. He could sense that Karen’s eyes had widened and she was staring back at him. He also could sense Karen’s heart pounding like a jackhammer. He could tell she was thinking the same thing: it all made sense. There was a reason that Fisk was being housed in the Presidential Hotel, and that reason was because more likely than not, he owned the hotel. And just a few days ago, he had had the original owner placed in the hospital for some reason.

“The...the Presidential Hotel?” Matt squeaked.

“Yeah,” Neda shrugged, confused by her visitors’ reactions. “That fancy hotel on Madison across from St. Pat’s Cathedral. My father sold it six months ago. You familiar with that place?”

“We are. Just…” Matt declined mentioning that Fisk was currently staying in the Presidential; he figured it was irrelevant to this discussion and would just confuse Neda even more. “We actually had coffee there this morning.”

“Tell us a little more about the sale,” Karen spoke up.

Neda took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to recount the meetings.

“I knew there was something off about the whole deal, but…” she paused, lost in thought.

“What happened?” Matt asked quietly.

Neda cleared her throat. “Okay. Six months ago, which would be last August, my dad's company was in possession of the Presidential Hotel. It’s a great venture. One of my dad’s more profitable properties. Out of nowhere, he just gets a phone call right out of the blue from some company neither of us have ever heard of. Uh, Vancorp. They want to buy the Presidential from us for a cool $200 million.”

“Vancorp…” Matt thought that name sounded familiar, though he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“My dad, he was reluctant to sell, but he's open to talk. So he agreed to a meeting to discuss the terms,” she finished. “We held the meeting on August 15th.”

“Where was this meeting?” Karen asked.

“Peter Luger’s, out in Brooklyn,” Neda answered, “My dad’s a steak aficionado. He likes to conduct business over expensive cuts of meat.”

“Who was there?”

“I was there,” she said, “Me, my dad.”

“And who came from…Vancorp?” Karen asked.

“That was the strangest thing,” Neda mused, taking another sip of her tea, “The owner never showed. He did send three representatives, though. There were two lawyers. The black one, he had silver hair and he was very slick. Slick as a fox.”

Matt and Karen didn’t say anything. _That’s Ben Donovan._

“There was also this old British guy in his late 50s,” Neda remembered. “Felix…something or other. I didn’t get his last name.”

“Those were the reps from Vancorp?” Matt asked.

"The lawyers were." Neda sighed. “The Englishman, he was a broker for the bank that would oversee the asset transfer." She sighed. "I don’t know how they pulled it off. I’m guessing they took advantage of Dad being drunk off his ass, and...they managed to persuade him to sell the Presidential to them. They got the deal signed by the end of the night.” She chuckled lightly. "He probably should've had Hogarth there to make sure the deal was fair."

“I’ve actually met one of Vancorp's lawyers,” Matt said. _I beat the piss out of him._

"What about more recent events?" Karen asked, ignoring Matt's jab. "Did Vancorp come up at all in conversation with your dad in the past week or two?"

Neda nodded. “Last Friday,” she said, “Dad had dinner here with me. And he told me, he regretted selling the Presidential and he was going to re-purchase it."

"Why?" Karen asked.

“He’d done some digging, and evidently, this company Vancorp isn’t even an actual company,” Neda said, lowering her head, “It’s some kind of dummy corporation. He had gotten in touch with the lawyers who represented Vancorp, saying he wanted to have a meeting with them tomorrow, Wednesday.”

“And a few days later, he gets attacked,” Matt finished Neda’s sentence. _And a few days after that, Wilson Fisk gets out of prison and is place in the hotel’s penthouse._

“Yeah,” Neda said. She grabbed a Kleenex and blew into it. "Sorry..."

“Thanks for your help, Miss Kazemi,” Matt said. He stood up from his spot on the couch. “Sorry about your dad.”

“You gonna expose the people who did this?” Neda asked, setting her Kleenex down on the coffee table.

“I can't promise we'll find them,” Matt turned in her direction as Karen stood up. "But if we do, we'll let you know.”

Matt and Karen shook hands with Neda and departed the penthouse, returning to the elevator. Their minds were racing as the elevator started its descent. Karen realized it was too great of a coincidence that Rostam Kazemi would sell the Presidential Hotel to a shell company repped by Fisk’s lawyers, then, shortly after deciding he wanted to buy the hotel back, got attacked. And that was just merely days before Fisk  got out of prison.

“There are only so many coincidences I can handle,” Karen said.

“I don’t believe in coincidences either,” Matt said. They exited the elevator and made it out to the street.

“I mean, Kazemi tells his family he wants to buy back the hotel from a shell company,” Karen whispered, “A few days later, he’s in a coma. And a few days after that, Fisk is out of prison and in the hotel's penthouse.”

"It's impressive, really," Matt mused.

“It's not amazing, Matt," Karen scoffed, "Fisk is a monster."

“Oh, I'm just...expressing...admiration of Fisk's talents," Matt replied, sheepishly, "Not in a good way. But for him to pull this all off from prison is genius."

Karen sighed. “So what now? We got multiple lines on Fisk.”

“I’ll track down Kazemi’s attackers.” Matt rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses as they stopped at the light for Broadway. “Fisk almost certainly didn’t give them orders directly.”

“It does provide a certain degree of insulation,” Karen replied.

“It’s plausible deniability. No direct line between the Kazemis’ attackers and Fisk,” Matt agreed, “But they probably have an intermediary who relayed Fisk’s orders to them. If we can find this guy and get him to turn on Fisk, we should be rock solid.”

“I can look into the money trail for Vancorp,” she offered, “Maybe it will tell us where Fisk is storing his money.”

“You look into that. And we’ll keep looking into whatever else we have. Vanessa, Vancorp, Donovan, Rikers, the FBI. Maybe some old cases from before Fisk came to power. We build it up from multiple angles.” He paused. “You are still all right with that, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Karen replied. _Wouldn’t hurt to bring Foggy in._ “And let’s not forget to add whatever Foggy might have uncovered,” she added, “He definitely could be useful now.”

Matt nodded in agreement. As much as hated putting it off, Foggy _would_ be a great help now. “Does Foggy still go to Josie’s?” he asked. He figured Josie's would be a more neutral place to reveal to Foggy that he was alive, as opposed to Foggy's apartment or his office.

Karen rubbed her chin for a moment. “Tuesdays and Friday nights. He’s always there with Marci.”

That gave Matt pause. He was hesitant to approach Foggy and tell him he was alive, if Marci would be with him. While Foggy knew his secret, Marci hadn’t, at least, as far as he knew. Matt also knew Foggy had been growing much closer to Marci, and it was quite possible he’d told her about Matt’s secret identity. The idea of Marci knowing worried him, as even though Foggy trusted Marci, she and Matt weren't exactly always on the best of terms. Although they could relate on their adversity struggles in law school, Matt's idealism rubbed her the wrong way, and the way he'd treated Foggy the past few years certainly couldn't have endeared him to her.

Karen checked her watch. “Crap, I should probably head back to the _Bulletin._ Ellison probably has been wondering where I’ve been all day.” She turned back to Matt. “Besides, Ben wrote a bunch of articles on the Mafia before Fisk came to power. A little trip into the archives wouldn't hurt...”

Matt smiled. “Yeah, that works. I’ll go meet with Foggy, find out what he knows, and then we can reconvene and pool our information.”

Karen gave Matt a quick kiss on the lips before descending into the 66th Street station. She couldn’t help but look back at him as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and smiled, realizing he was standing still and listening to her heartbeat. _He did that when we first kissed in the rain,_ she thought. As she boarded the 1 train, the first of a few trains she’d have to take to get back to the _Bulletin_ offices, she marveled at the amount of progress they’d made at gathering leads on Fisk today. For someone used to doing things by herself, Karen really wanted more of this teamwork. The high of teaming up was like heroin, but without the physical effects.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--So this is basically how Karen found out Fisk owns the hotel. (They never explained what paper trail Karen followed in the actual show to get to that conclusion)


	6. Ambitions and Setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt reunites with Foggy and Marci, in a way that takes an unexpected turn. Karen hits a setback trying to break the story with Ellison. Fisk begins to study Dex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We cover approximately the last fifteenish minutes of episode 3 in this chapter. You can see how this divergence from canon doesn't just extend to Matt teaming up much earlier.

**Clinton Church:**

As soon as Karen boarded her train and departed, Matt began walking back to the Clinton Church, figuring that, since he would be moving back into his apartment, there was no longer a need to keep any of the possessions he’d left in the crypt.

He was about two blocks away from the church when his senses picked up screams coming from not too far away. Instinctively, Matt folded his cane and stuffed it into his inner suit pocket, and took off. He didn’t put his mask on until he was closer to the sound. He found a pair of men with guns trying to mug a young married couple in an alleyway a block over from the church. One of them was using a gun to back them up against a brick wall, while the other was standing by a dumpster to block any attempt at escape.

Matt ran into the alleyway, creeping up behind the thug standing by the dumpster. As this thug turned in response to the sound of a new set of footsteps in the alleyway, Matt launched a hammer blow at his head, striking him in the ear. As the thug opened his mouth to scream in pain, Matt struck him in his Adam's apple with a precision karate chop, silencing his scream. The thug, who had had the wind knocked out of him, tried to swing at his attacker, but Matt ducked and delivered a devastating knuckle-punch to the man's liver, causing him to crumple to his knees, wheezing.

"Bobby?" he heard the other thug ask, having heard the noises of fighting. "What the hell are you doing?" He turned his gun off of his victims and cautiously began walking over towards the dumpster. Matt caught him by surprise, grabbing him by his right arm and twisting it, disarming him of his gun. This guy was a bit tougher to handle, breaking out of Matt's hold. He threw a storm of punches, most of which Matt ducked or blocked. As the man began to tire himself out, Matt let loose a series of superfast martial arts moves, calling upon Stick's training, which culminated in a spin kick to this mugger's knee, causing it to break with a loud crunch. The mugger collapsed, out of the fight.

Matt stood, shaking, breathing heavily. As the attacker moaned in pain, Matt turned to the scared couple these two men had been trying to rob, who were huddled on the opposite side of the alleyway and shaking in fear of what they'd just witnessed.

“Who the hell are you?” the husband asked, his voice barely above a whimper.

"I'm Daredevil," Matt said. He turned around and began briskly walking back towards the street. He didn't take off his mask and slip his glasses back on until he was back on the sidewalk and resumed his journey towards the church. His sense of smell was overwhelmed by the coppery scent of blood, which he quickly realized was coming from fresh cuts on his knuckles.  _Damn it. I should've worn gloves..._ He’d need to have Sister Maggie clean these up so he could look presentable for his meeting with Foggy. Especially if Foggy was going to be with Marci.

He made it the rest of the way to the Clinton Church with no further delays, and descended into the church basement. Scanning the room, he quickly found and made his way over to the sink and began washing the blood off his knuckles.

As he was washing, he detected a familiar heartbeat as Sister Maggie descended the stairs, having seen him enter.

“Hallelujah,” Sister Maggie said as she found Matt, “So you can dress like a normal human being.”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh. _This is my other costume,_ he thought.

“Well, it warms my heart to see you going out to do something other than beat someone up.”

“How do you know?” Matt responded. “Could just be adding style to my beatings.”

“Did you- Did you just make a joke?” she asked. Matt suppressed the urge to smile. “You look ready to smile, which I'm sure in your case means…well, I don't know what that could mean, as I've never actually seen one.”

Matt drank a glass of water and rinsed out his mouth.

“At least you're upright,” Maggie commented as Matt turned off the water. “Do I even wanna know?”

 _Well I’m working with my girlfriend to bring down Fisk._ As Maggie checked Matt over for injuries, Matt asked her something that had been bothering him ever since the parking garage. Fisk had turned on the Albanians for Vanessa’s protection. What Donovan and Hattley had told him made sense: Fisk loved Vanessa deeply, and would do anything to keep her safe, and did not like people insulting her honor. Matt couldn't help but feel the scar on his cheek from when Fisk slammed his head against that table.

“Do you believe people can change?” Matt asked.

“I'm still holding out hope,” Sister Maggie answered. Matt could hear the melancholy undertones in her voice. He knew she was probably referring to him.

“I don’t think we can,” Matt said, “Not really. I think we come into this world who we are. And maybe we get a little nicer. Or a little angrier. But we can't change our fundamental nature.”

Sister Maggie didn’t have any words to say. “Well, you'd actually have to try to know,” she finally said, turning around and grabbing a jar in which she kept some washcloths.

“I was talking about Wilson Fisk,” Matt said.

This got Sister Maggie’s attention. No surprise, Matt thought, she had to have heard about it either on the radio or a TV. _Nuns couldn’t exactly be cut off from the outside world entirely, could they?_

“So your hearing's really back, then?” Sister Maggie asked. “Well, what do you know? Maybe the boss did hear my prayers.” She unscrewed the lid and grabbed a washcloth.

“Yeah, or my curses,” Matt muttered.

“Please don't start with Job again,” Sister Maggie said. She crossed the room to another table where she kept a pot of hot water, which she poured into a glass bowl.

“You gotta admit, it's interesting, though, isn't it?” Matt mused. “I finally get my full hearing back, and the first thing I hear is that Wilson Fisk is out of prison.”

“So you're suggesting that God set a dangerous mobster free just to spite you?” Sister Maggie snarked.

“Nah,” Matt shrugged. Optimistically, he believed that God had done it with the intention of reuniting him with Karen. Though the pessimist within him had to admit that maybe Sister Maggie’s theory wasn’t too far off the mark. “Probably just a coincidence.”

“Because that would be incredibly narcissistic,” Sister Maggie stated.

Matt winced as Sister Maggie soaked a cloth in the bowl and began using it to wipe away the blood on his fingers.

“Fisk claims to be helping the FBI,” Matt said, “But they don't know him like I do.” _Or they do know, and he's paying them to do nothing._

“Right. And according to you, people can't change.”

Matt scoffed. “'Cause he's claiming to have changed over a woman.” _And I highly doubt Fisk’s love for Vanessa changes him for the better. If anything, I think it corrupts her. She corrupts him just like Elektra tried to corrupt me.  
_

“I see,” Sister Maggie said, pursing her lips, “Well, if there's anything that can redeem a lost soul, love would have to top the list.”

Matt doubted that really was the case anymore. He’d loved Elektra, and tried to redeem her, and that hadn't turned out well at all. Fisk was not someone love could redeem. He'd killed his father when he was 12; his soul was too far lost for him to still be redeemed. “Oh, come on,” he made an about-face, “Even a monster like Fisk?”

“You're talking to a nun, kiddo,” Sister Maggie replied, “Love and redemption are pretty much our sales pitch.”

“Yeah?” Matt scoffed, a tone of disbelief. “Well, I'm not buying.”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“I don't know,” he rolled his shoulders. _Karen and I have a few attack plans, but we need more solid information to work off of._ “Maybe I will stop him. For good this time.” Fisk clearly wasn’t the kind of man who could be taken down with some threats and a few beatings.

“Well, just be careful that you don't become the monster,” Sister Maggie said, a note of caution in her voice.

“If I do that, I think Karen will leave me for good,” Matt laughed bitterly.

Sister Maggie was taken aback by Matt’s statement. She felt her heart pounding as she read through the lines.

“I wasn’t being totally honest,” he said, “That day when I told you I had no one to call. ‘Cause there’s a woman in my life. Her name is Karen Page.”

He sensed Sister Maggie’s mood and heartbeat change a bit at the mention of Karen.

“’Some bloody their fists trying to keep the Kitchen safe’,” she said, quoting one of Karen’s first articles. “I read her byline in the _Bulletin_.” 

Matt laughed. Karen admitted to him that she was embarrassed by the article. The two of them wondered how the hell Ellison even let it run without any revisions. It seemed more like the sort of thing a journalist in a streaming TV show would write, Karen had said. 

He went stone-faced again as he spoke. "We, um…we weren’t on the best of terms when we last spoke,” he said. “We dated for a bit. But I kept this big secret from her because I didn’t want her to get hurt. Eventually, it destroyed our relationship and I…” he took a breath. “…I pushed her away, thinking it was the only way that I could keep her safe. I soon realized I was wrong.” He felt a tear rolling down his eye. “I’d made some bad choices and hurt people that I love without meaning to. So I told her the truth. About Daredevil. About everything.” He wiped the tear from his face and leaned with both hands on the mirror. “We started talking again, and then this whole thing with Midland Circle happened…”  Sister Maggie didn’t say anything. 

“I was going to leave her to think I was dead,” he said once he was able to gather his thoughts enough to resume, “But then last night, when I heard Fisk was out, I couldn’t think of anything about her. That's how we met, actually. Fisk was trying to have her killed for exposing secrets of his that he doesn’t want others to know.” He couldn’t help but the edges of his mouth were curling up into a smile as he finished, “So I reached out to her and I found she had moved into my apartment while I’ve been laid up here.”

Sister Maggie narrowed her eyes at Matt, considering her words.

“Wow,” she finally said, masking a smirk in her words, “She sounds lovely.”

“She is,” Matt said. _In more ways than one._

“She knows you're Daredevil,” she stated.

“She does,” he said, his smile breaking free.

“And she’s stuck around?” Sister Maggie asked. She resisted the urge to laugh. “Sounds like a keeper.”

Matt chuckled. “We're just friends.”

“Well, it's nice to hear you use the F-word,” Sister Maggie said. Matt chuckled again. Under her breath, but still audible to Matt, she added, “And to see you reconnecting.”

“She's just helping me,” Matt said, looking her way like he was being attacked.

“It's not a criticism, Matthew,” Sister Maggie said, as she began cleaning Matt’s right hand, “Calling you an idiot for believing that friends make you weaker rather than stronger? That would be a criticism.”

Matt laughed. “Thank you for clarifying that.”

He stood there in silence as Sister Maggie finished disinfecting his cuts, and applied bandages to them.

“So anyways, where are you off to?” she asked, as Matt buttoned his suit back up

“To go see some friends,” Matt said, “Karen’s not the only one who helped me bring down Fisk.”

“You need a suit for that?”

“I'm a lawyer,” he smirked, slipping on his gloves so that he could hide the cuts on his knuckles, “What did you think I wore?”

* * *

 **New York Bulletin** :

Karen boarded the 1 train and took it down to Times Square-42nd Street. There, she transferred to the N train, which she took over to Lexington Avenue-59th Street, which deposited her right by the _Bulletin_ Building, located on the southwest corner of the intersection of 59th and Lexington, on the opposite diagonal from Bloomingdale's. Karen loved that there was an internal staircase and passageway that allowed her to go directly from the station to the building's lobby without having to go outside. This came in handy at times, as it meant she didn't have to go outside to go from her office to the train when weather was bad. It also provided an easy way for her to avoid the press when they were camped outside, as had been the case during the days following Lewis Wilson's attack on the hotel.

Following a pit stop at the bagel shop in the lobby to get a bagel and a white chocolate mocha (hardly the most optimal of late afternoon snacks/early dinners), Karen took the elevator up to the main newsroom on the sixth floor. She made a quick detour to Jennifer Many's office to acquire copies of her notes on the Fisk story, which Jennifer was all but happy to hand over after a few minutes of begging on Karen's part. Karen then retreated into the sanctuary of her own office, whereupon she opened up her laptop, and began digging into Vancorp, the shell company that Fisk had used to buy the hotel. She went onto the state’s Corporation and Business Entity Database, which contained the paperwork on every corporation and LLC licensed to do business in the state of New York, and plugged in the name “Vancorp”. The database had Vancorp on record, with a street address that belonged to a tenement building on the Lower East Side, and no visible employees of any kind. These were all red flags that were indicative of a shell company.   With a little digging, she found the company’s corporate charter papers. There were several corporate officers and shareholders listed in the charter papers, but the most important name that Karen was interested in finding was the resident agent on the filing, who, from her experience, usually tended to be a lawyer.

It took just a few clicks for Karen to find out who the resident agent for Vancorp was. Unsurprisingly, she found that it was the law firm of Donovan & Partners. _Fisk’s lawyers,_ Karen thought. _Of course! Fisk would want to keep his assets easily accessible._   With a little more digging, she found that Vancorp was a subsidiary of a company called the WFSK Investment Group.  _I’m betting that this parent company is a Fisk subsidiary as well._ The WFSK Investment Group was supposedly headquartered in George Town, in the Caymans.  A precursory inspection of their business records was all it took for Karen to determine that it too was nothing more than a shell company.  It also had a charter to do business in the United States, filed by…Donovan & Partners. _Fisk has his bases all covered,_ Karen thought. She couldn't help but find it amusing that Fisk would pick such an obvious phony name for a sham business. _He really thinks no one’s gonna know or care that WFSK stands for Wilson Fisk?_

What little information she was able to find on the WFSK Investment Group was that it was a subsidiary of Kelco Financials, headquartered in Luxembourg. Even _that_ turned out to be just another shell company. It too had a charter to operate in New York, also filed by Donovan & Partners. _Layers upon layers of protection. Good work, Fisk_. Within about an hour, she managed to uncover a half-dozen more parent shell companies beyond Kelco Financials. All of them had the same characteristics: they were all established internationally, and all of them had had business charters filed by Donovan  & Partners to conduct business in New York State. _This is huge, and definitely something Ellison will want to see._ Unlike Ben, who had made the mistake of trying to pitch his story about Fisk's mother to Ellison without any reliable sources to corroborate information, Karen had a lot of useful information. All she hoped was that it would be enough to get Ellison to decide that she would be better suited than anyone else to be the official reporter who handled the _Bulletin_ 's coverage on Fisk.

On a hunch, Karen decided to do a little probing into Donovan & Partners. If they were managing the shell companies Karen had just managed to find, they were probably handling all of Fisk’s other assets. Maybe they were brokering deals between him and other criminals. So Karen did a Google search on Donovan & Partners. What she found was pretty big, but not surprising. They were one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, with a pretty eclectic client list. Several of the names on the list were ones that Karen was very much acquainted with, including politicians and businessmen both legitimate and not-so-legitimate. Donovan had started the firm as a solo practice running out of a second floor office on Lenox Avenue in Harlem in 1978. He later took on a second partner, Nicholas Lee, in 1985, and moved the practice to a high-rise office in the MetLife Building.  Even in the early days, the firm gained a reputation for its ties to organized crime and corruption. One of their most notable early clients was Mama Maybelline Stokes, infamous community leader and crime matron of Harlem. Karen recognized that name as the grandmother of Mariah Dillard and Cottonmouth. In the 30 years since, Donovan’s firm had become pretty infamous for their defenses of the city's most notorious gangsters and corrupt billionaires. In particular, they had a reputation for defending associates and friends of the Stokes family, right up until the family line died off with Mariah’s death. And they had also been the firm that Fisk picked as his defense team. Given how connected the firm was to the Stokes-Dillard ring as well as to Fisk, Karen had a feeling that it would take some time for her to weed out which dummy corporations Donovan had filed charters for were ones that belonged to Fisk and which ones had belonged to Mariah and hadn’t yet been dissolved. 

Karen knew that Donovan probably wouldn’t reveal anything willingly about Fisk’s criminal activities to her over the phone, especially not after she and Matt had roughed him up in the Presidential Hotel's parking garage. She suspected that he probably had contracted for additional bodyguards in light of this scare. She remembered Ben saying something about Fisk providing additional protection to Owlsley after Matt's visit to him at Silver & Brent. But it wasn't entirely a dead end, Karen realized. Neither she nor Matt had bothered to go after Nicholas Lee, the other attorney. Maybe, just maybe, he would be willing to open up. Or not, depending on what Donovan had told him about the parking garage. She dialed up Donovan & Partners’ phone number using her office landline.

“Offices of Donovan & Partners,” a female voice responded, “How can I direct your call?”

“Yes, hi, my name is Karen Page,” Karen replied, “I’m a reporter with the _New York Bulletin."_

"What's this about?"

"I’m doing a story about your firm’s defense of Wilson Fisk. And I was wondering if I could get a quote from Mr. Lee."

“Mr. Lee is unavailable right now,” the assistant replied.

“It’s very urgent,” Karen said, “My editor really needs a quote from the firm by deadline tonight.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Lee has already left the office,” the assistant answered, “I’d be happy to take a message and have him return your call in the morning.”

 _Damn_. “Yes…yes, I understand. I’ll try again tomorrow. Good night.”

With that attempt to contact Lee having failed, Karen decided to go back in time a bit. She went into the  _Bulletin_ 's archives and grabbed photocopies and research files for every article Ben Urich had ever written about _La Cosa Nostra_ , a fancy name for the Italian mafia that had maintained a stronghold in Hell's Kitchen for decades prior to Fisk's arrival on the scene. Fisk may have only gone public a few weeks before he was arrested, but Karen had a sneaking suspicion that a man with his connections had to have spent years building up connections and partnerships behind the scenes in order to have so much influence that he was able to own countless cops and politicians and also render himself a complete ghost. And no one what better way could there be for Fisk jumpstart his own empire than by leeching off an established one.

As Karen sifted through Ben's notes, which consisted of a bunch of official NYPD files as well as transcripts of interviews Ben had had with a number of known members of the mafia, she couldn't help but remember something Ben had told her in the last conversation he'd had with her over the phone, just a few hours before he died. Ben had said he was waiting for a source to get back with some information on Don Carmine Rigoletto, a mob boss that had been the head of organized crime in Hell's Kitchen from the 1960s up through the mid-1990s. A look through Ben's notes showed that in the weeks prior to his death, Ben had been in touch with Silvio Manfredi, a retired underboss who used to work under Rigoletto. _Silvio Manfredi._ Karen remembered him as one of the pallbearers at Ben’s funeral. From what Karen could decipher, Ben had been in touch with Silvio to investigate rumors that Fisk had something to do with Rigoletto’s “retirement”. She wasn’t sure what Silvio could provide her and Matt. As a made man, he presumably might be reluctant to provide information about a man as dangerous as Fisk. However, as he was also a good friend and a reliable informant to Ben, maybe he could be persuaded to talk to Ben's protege for the sake of bringing Ben's killer to justice. And an underboss, from what Karen was able to uncover about the mafia hierarchy, was the second-in-command to the man on top, a role similar to the role that Wesley had played for Fisk. Provided Silvio was willing to cooperate, the odds were very high that he knew things that Karen and Matt could use to link Fisk to crimes that he hadn't been charged with under the five RICO counts he'd been convicted on. If Silvio's information turned out to be accurate, she could have a potential article written up in a matter of days that would keep Fisk's crimes in the public spotlight and put pressure on Blake Tower into prosecuting Fisk at the state level.

Although Karen's research into Fisk's background had primarily focused on the Mafia, since they had been in Hell's Kitchen the longest, she also decided to pull up everything Ben had researched about the other crews that Fisk had been working with; the Ranskahovs, the Triads, and the Yakuza. Even though all three had been wiped out, there were a few surviving stragglers from these gangs who might have some information about how their operations worked within Fisk's syndicate. She also looked over information she had gathered on the Albanians that Fisk had sold out to the FBI, and found that they had maintained a strong presence at Rikers, where Fisk had been held. One of their bosses, Vic Jusufi, was doing time in there, and from what little information she could find, was in a power struggle with Fisk for control of the prison for the entirety of Fisk's stay. The Albanians' presence at Rikers, plus the fact that they reportedly had a few cops in their pockets, would almost certainly explain how they'd known about Fisk's correspondence with the FBI, when he was being transferred to the Presidential Hotel, and how they knew what route the motorcade would be taking.

While she was on that subject, she decided to do a little digging into Fisk's time at Rikers. She had a suspicion that to gain control over the prison, he had to have not only bought off the guards, but maybe the inmates as well. Prisons were notoriously corrupt, with guards usually being bought off left and right by virtually every gang that had members there. But Karen had hopes that maybe she could find a guard who'd be willing to go on-record about what he'd seen Fisk engage in. A little more sleuthing eventually got her the number of Roy Olsky, a guard at Rikers who had at one point been under investigation on suspicion of receiving bribes, but whom the DOC had been unable to build a strong-enough case to get an indictment for.

"Hello," a gruff and accented voice picked up the phone.

"Hi, is this Roy Olsky I'm speaking to?" Karen asked.

"This is he."

"Mr. Olsky, my name is Karen Page. I'm a reporter with the _New York Bulletin_ ," Karen said, hesitantly, "I'm doing a story about Wilson Fisk and the time he spent in your prison."

There was a silence as Olsky contemplated an answer. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, there's a rumor going around that Fisk was running a criminal empire within the prison walls, and that some of the guards and inmates there were receiving payments from him," she said.

"I don't know anything about that," Olsky replied. Karen thought she could hear a slight hesitation in his voice. "Far as I remember, Fisk was a model prisoner. One of the best behaved ones, actually." 

 _Pffft, lies,_ Karen thought. "Your name was on the list of guards my source supplied," she lied. There was no list, but she figured if the guard was taking bribes from Fisk, he'd probably panic at the thought that someone had uncovered evidence of his corruption.  "And moreso, I got something that neither you nor or any of the guards want the public to know.”

“And what is that?” Olsky sounded intrigued, but skeptical.

“A record of you receiving a massive amount of money from one of Fisk’s accounts around the same time that Frank Castle was convicted and incarcerated.”

“If that's true, Miss Page, do you think I'm gonna admit that to you on the phone?”

“Overseas account set up in your wife's name. Fisk had his people set it up for you. Neither you nor your wife have ever touched it.”

“Alright. Let’s say this record really does exist. It’s circumstantial at best.”

Karen took a deep breath. “Well if it’s of no use to you, then I’ll take this to your bosses at the DOC and you can take your chances with them.”

Olsky seemed to consider this for a while. “What do you want from me?”

“Because I think you're a loose end, Mr. Olsky. Once this story breaks how you and your coworkers were paid to turn a blind eye to Fisk's criminal shenanigans, how long do you think it's gonna be before he puts a bullet in your skull? If you go on record with me, I can help you. And you get a chance not to end up like everyone else Fisk has double crossed.”

There was another lengthy silence. Karen hoped Olsky was deciding whether or not he should talk to the press. “I'd rather keep my head on, thank you very much," Olsky aid, hanging up without so much as saying goodbye.

Karen sighed, frustrated that the lead had turned into a dead end. Olsky clearly wasn't going to break. She yawned heavily, and was surprised when she checked her watch to see that it was 8:40 pm, and she had been researching nonstop for over three hours. _Oh shit, it’s getting late._ Ellison usually headed home for the night around nine o'clock, so she'd only have a narrow window to catch him on his way out and pitch her story about Fisk owning the hotel. That might get them something. She quickly picked up her smartphone and texted Ellison. " _I have a story to break. Can you come by my office now so I can pitch it to you? Or would you rather I bring it up tomorrow morning?"_  

As Karen waited for Ellison to come by, she scanned over the Word documents she'd made that summarized everything she'd gleaned from her digging into the Vancorp paper trail to see if she'd missed anything.

“Paper goes to bed in 20 minutes, you got 15 seconds,” Ellison said when he entered Karen's office a few minutes later.

“Okay, it's big," Karen said, looking up from her screen.

“Shit," he cursed. _Is it something on the Kazemi piece? Or is it-  
_

“It’s Fisk,” she said. 

Ellison’s cheeks turned a soft pink. He was exasperated that Karen had decided to disobey his directions and investigate Fisk anyways. The look on his face at this moment was an expression Karen was all too familiar with, remembering how he’d reacted when he'd found out that she'd been secretly in touch with Frank Castle and used the information she'd gleaned from him about Micro to aid Frank, indirectly contributing to the death of Carson Wolf.  “No, look…” he sighed, rubbing his face, trying to express his frustration in as calm a voice as he could muster, “Goddamnit. I explicitly told you _not_ to do that!”

“I didn't set out to-“ Karen tried to speak.  

“ _Stop._ ” Ellison interrupted her, waving his hands in front of him as he gestured for her to let him finish. “Mason saw you at the hotel.”  Karen began to open her mouth to protest, so he got ahead of her. “I mean, I know, Fisk is important to you. I know. _I don't care!_ Okay? _I_ assign the stories, and I gave this one to Mason!”

“I wasn't there on that story!” Karen protested, “I was there on my story! The Kazemis?" _A small white lie_ , Karen thought, since she and Matt didn't know about the Kazemi attack being connected to Fisk or the Presidential at the time, but she reasoned that if she could convince Ellison that she had already known about it at the time and her investigation into the attack had been what led her to the hotel, she could get him to hear her out. "Look, I think there's a connection.”

Ellison took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of her office couch. _Yes, score one for Karen,_ Karen thought, relieved that she had Ellison's full undivided attention, and he seemed to buy her lie. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you know who used to own the Presidential Hotel?” Karen asked.

“No.”

“The Kazemis. I don't have proof yet, but you know who I think owns it now? Wilson Fisk.”

Ellison now looked intrigued. “Tell me.”

“Okay.” Karen stood up and walked around her desk. “Look, I got a lead. So the Presidential Hotel is owned by these nested shell companies. All right? It's just one company who owns another and another after another. Anyway, I tracked them from here to the Caymans to Luxembourg.”

“And this connects to Fisk how?” he asked.

“Because all of those companies," she continued, "They're all represented here in the United States by one law firm: Donovan & Partners. Fisk's lawyers.”

“Okay, keep going,” Ellison said.

  
“All right, here's what I've pieced together,” Karen continued, sitting down on the edge of her desk, “Six months ago, one of these shell companies buys the Presidential Hotel from Kazemi. A week ago, he tells his family that he regrets the sale and announces his intention to buy the hotel back. And two days later, Kazemi gets attacked.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, exactly. Now, I don't think that timing is coincidental. I just-I can _feel_ Fisk is behind this, right? I feel it in my bones. I need two days to get everything vetted, then I'll have a story that you can run.” _And please don’t bury it on account of my past association with Union Allied…_

Ellison looked at Karen and stroked his beard, contemplating his options. Although it was a major conflict of interest, Karen had pulled through and demonstrated once again that she was the best researcher the _Bulletin_ had ever had in the 23 years that he'd been working at the paper, 12 as its editor-in-chief. “It's excellent,” he conceded, “Outstanding work, Karen.”

“Thank you,” she said. That was what she wanted to hear.

“Really.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. She was finally getting somewhere with this.  _We'll have a piece that will get the FBI to send Fisk back to prison; or at the very least, gets his potential allies to second-guess whether they should continue associating with him! Or rile Fisk into making a mistake._ That is, until Ellison opened his mouth to speak again.

“I'm giving it to Mason,” he said abruptly, “I told you.”

“What?!” Karen stood up. A strong combination of frustration and anger suddenly surged through her body. She was outraged that Ellison had decided to string her along, giving her false hope that he was in her corner, and then ripped that hope away from her and wanted all credit for _her_ information to be given to another reporter, one who didn't have the in-depth knowledge of Fisk's syndicate that she did. She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her anger, knowing it wouldn’t do her any favors if she lashed out at her boss. “No, I know, I'm biased. Of course _I'm_ biased! Fisk tried to have me killed! And he also killed Ben, which makes you as biased as me!”

It had been bad enough for Ellison that one of his reporters had been working for Fisk. It would be worse for it to become known that one of his finest reporters was covering a man who had tried to have her killed twice. And Ellison was smart enough to suspect, just from what he recalled of Ben's various organized crime pieces on other mob bosses, that Fisk still had some degree of power from prison, and probably would jump at the chance to tie the paper up in libel lawsuits if Karen wrote anything unfavorable about him. Which she'd made clear that she would. “If people see your name and know your connection to Fisk, it compromises this paper!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in volume as he tried to get Karen to understand his side of things.

 _ENOUGH._ Karen had no more patience for being told “no”. Ellison's argument sounded to her like the sort of excuses that he had used to stifle Ben’s initial efforts to go public about Fisk, always making bullshit arguments for why he couldn’t pursue them. _"It won't sell papers, blah blah blah."_ Karen still hadn’t forgiven Ellison for having been a complete asshole to Ben, and how he pulled Ben off the stories that mattered to write worthless pulp about rescued cats and subway colors.  Fisk was _her_ story. No one else’s. She would be seeing it through to the end, journalism ethics be damned. And right now, it was looking increasingly like Matt was the only one willing to give her assistance in pursuing leads. _And I don't care if the paper gets compromised because someone finds out that I used to be a secretary at a company that was a front owned by Fisk. He already compromised the paper when he got Caldwell to spy on Ben for him._

“ **FINE!** ” Karen screamed, loud enough that everyone outside in the newsroom probably could hear her. Not that she cared.  _I **will** investigate Fisk, conflicts of interest be damned._ “GIVE THE BYLINE TO MASON! I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT CREDIT! WHAT I GIVE A SHIT ABOUT IS FISK GETTING OUT OF PRISON! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING…" _Well, Matt and **I** are actually doing something useful, and you're not... _ " **I** HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! SO DON’T TELL ME TO BACK OFF, BECAUSE I WON’T!”

A hush fell over the room. Ellison was stunned. He'd never had a reporter go off on him like this in response to him pulling them off a story since...well since Ben died. It was highly unusual for Karen of all people to be doing it, and that scared him a bit. For her part, Karen herself was stunned. She'd never unloaded on anyone like this since that fateful argument with her dad on the night of Kevin's death. Ellison turned and warily stepped out the door to Karen's office. As he did, he turned around and said, in a voice laced with mixed tones of frustration, sadness, and disappointment, “You know, it took Ben decades to become _this_ much of a pain in my ass...” _I'm just trying to protect you from repercussions, Karen. Something you don't seem very appreciative of._

 _Don’t you dare bring Ben into this, not when you never had his back!_  Karen just silently glared at Ellison as he retreated back to his office. Once he was out of sight, she clenched her teeth and kicked her desk in frustration. _I guess I’m just going to have to go off the reservation with Matt to bring Fisk down. Ellison's not going to be of any help at all._ She took several deep breaths, her shoulders rising and falling as she sought to get herself under control for the subway ride back to her and Matt’s apartment. She powered down her laptop, put it and her research notes into her bag, and clicked off the lights of her office.

* * *

**Josie's Bar:**

Foggy Nelson and Marci Stahl were seated at a table in Josie’s, Foggy sporting a tumbler of whiskey in his hands, and Marci sporting a dirty martini in hers, as they watched Blake Tower and Commissioner Frank Reagan speaking at a press conference on the evening newscast. The news that Fisk was out of prison made it impossible for either of them to catch any sleep at all. It was nights like this that made Foggy long for Matt's presence, long for his blind best friend who beat that bald-headed asshole to a pulp. He’d had another nightmare the night before, about Matt’s demise in Midland Circle. Marci had, for the third time in as many days, pleaded for him to see a therapist. And that was before the terrible night was capped off when he'd gotten a text message from Karen telling him " **CHECK THE NEWS RIGHT NOW** ," and his heart further sank when he opened up the  _Bulletin_ app on his iPhone and saw a breaking news story on the _Bulletin_ app, with Fisk's mugshot plastered front and center.

At present, Foggy was worried for Karen’s safety, given the previous two attempts Fisk had made on her life and her propensity for wandering into dangerous situations. He wasn’t too happy with her for trying to provoke a bomber into going after her on the radio, even moreso because he had to learn third-hand from Brett about what happened at the Roosevelt. And that was before the concerns he had for Marci's wellbeing. She’d been very integral to their efforts to expose Fisk, providing them with crucial work product that implicated Parrish Landman, Senator Randolph Cherryh, and a bunch of other rich old white guys that Fisk was paying off. Her work had also indirectly allowed them to locate Detective Hoffman, as well as link Fisk to the tenement case, Westmeyer Holt, Confederated Global, and Union Allied. If Fisk found out about her duplicity, the odds were high that he would probably seek to ruin her career, if not have her killed. And that was before the possible damage that Fisk could do to Foggy’s career. What would be worse would be if Fisk found out about Foggy’s associations with Daredevil. He could use them to have Foggy disbarred and thrown into prison. And he'd confided Matt's secret to Marci too. So she would likely be going along with him for the ride, considered guilty by association.

With Karen off doing her own thing to expose Fisk, hopefully, Foggy figured that he might as well find out if there was another angle to attack Fisk from, seeing as that had worked the last time around. He spent the morning in his office pouring over every story about Fisk's release and researching New York case law, trying to find any sort of legal loophole that would void the FBI’s deal with Fisk. He determined that the deal was only applicable at the federal level, which was where he had been tried. They could put Fisk back behind bars if they could build a case against him at the state level. All that mattered was whether or not Blake Tower would be willing to pull out all the stops for a trial that would be the size and scope of the OJ case, and during an election year, where such a prosecution would likely be the deciding factor between Tower winning or losing. So at lunchtime, Foggy schlepped down to City Hall on the 5 train to speak to Tower, hoping to find out just what the District Attorney was doing about Fisk. He was beyond livid when Tower outright refused to open any sort of state prosecution of Fisk, not even when Foggy tried using Elena Cardenas’s murder to elicit sympathy from Tower. Despite their language barrier issues, as Foggy barely spoke any Spanish (unlike Matt and Karen, who were fluent to different extents), he had grown particularly attached to Elena while he and Matt had been working on her case. They fought tooth and nail when Armund Tully tried to have her evicted from her building, only for it to be rendered all for naught as Fisk hired a junkie to murder her. The poor woman didn’t deserve to die like that, a victim of Fisk’s machinations. Yet compared to Matt, who had been so angry about Elena's death he'd gone to confront Fisk with the intention of killing him, Tower didn’t care, and coldly told Foggy to leave.

Marci wasn't faring much better. A true “meat grinder in a pencil skirt” as Karen always liked to call her, she had fought tooth and nail to make it this far as a woman in the legal profession, and she was not going to let Fisk take that all away from her. She spent the day cooped up in her office as well, digging through her old case files from Landman & Zack, with a close focus on Armund Tully and Elena Cardenas' tenement suit, to see if there was anything from the dissolved firm’s dealings with Fisk that could be used to leverage Tower, as well as any illegal activities she may have been an accomplice to, that Fisk could use against her. Sure, the Bar Association had granted Marci immunity when she turned confidential work product over to Foggy, factoring in her arguments that Fisk had corrupted the legal system enough that reporting through the normal channels was not feasible, but she was damn certain that Fisk wouldn’t see it that way.

After a long and tedious day of investigating, the couple ended up at Josie’s, intent on getting drunk off their asses, before taking the subway back to their Brooklyn apartment and screwing their brains out.

They watched the newscast mindlessly, sipping their drinks as Tower continued speaking. Foggy didn’t even hear a word Tower was saying. He was so busy stewing over their earlier meeting that he almost didn’t register when he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder, and saw Marci's eyes widening in disbelief as she turned to someone who was standing right behind him.

“Foggy. Marci,” said a very familiar voice.

Foggy and Marci turned their heads in the direction of the voice (a full 180 degrees for Foggy and about 35 degrees for Marci), and Foggy’s eyes widened in shock as to what he was seeing. It was Matt, dressed almost exactly like he'd been when the cops brought him into the 29th precinct after Elektra had killed Stick. _Or was it?_ Foggy was on his third round of whiskey, so he could easily have been imagining things.

“Matt?” Marci let out a little gasp. “What are you doing here?”

Despite Karen's text message and photograph from last night, Foggy still felt like he’d been hit with a bag of 100 pound bricks and he had forgotten how to breathe at the sight of Matt face to face. _Holy shit_ , his best friend was alive and well, and he was going to owe Karen an apology for doubting her. _"_ Matt..." He slowly got up and hugged Matt tightly, burying his face in Matt’s shoulder. His best friend was back. And maybe wanted to help him and Marci with finding something to pursue Fisk.

“Foggy,” Matt said, again. He could sense the relief that was running through Foggy’s body as his friend clung to him like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.

“How? Where? We all thought you were dead!” as he pulled out of the hug.

“I’m sorry,” Matt murmured. “I hope I'm not intruding. Can I take a seat?”

Without asking, Matt felt for a spare stool and took a seat, putting him to Foggy’s right side, and so that he was facing Marci directly.

“You must have a lot of questions about how exactly I'm even standing," Matt said, uneasily.

"Yes, please," Foggy said. "You owe me some explanations." Marci cleared her throat, loudly. "Well, both of us," he corrected.

Matt sighed. He wasn't going to keep the truth from Foggy or Karen any longer, but he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to do this with Marci present. He couldn't help but wonder what impression Marci had of him, but it probably wasn't a good one, given everything that had happened that had led to Nelson & Murdock breaking up and Foggy ending up working alongside her at Jeri Hogarth's firm. _Still, she ought to know the truth._

He took a deep breath and said, “Marci, there’s something I have to tell you before I explain. I'm...” He paused. "...I'm Daredevil."

“I know," she said, flatly.

Matt blinked and his expression turned to one of surprise. If he could see, he'd have noticed a similar look on Foggy's face. "You...you do?"

Marci took a sip of her martini and stared at Foggy, who shook his head and gave her a _don’t say anything_ face. “It was kinda hard not to figure it out.”

"How?" he asked. "That me and Daredevil both disappeared at Midland Circle?"

"Partially," she said, measuring  her response, "But I've known for at least a year."

"Care...to elaborate?" Matt asked, slowly.

"Well I read the pieces Karen wrote about Daredevil in the _Bulletin_ ," she said, "And one thing I couldn't help but notice was that her defense of Daredevil sounded more like a woman defending her boyfriend than it would a civilian defending a stranger who'd saved her life. The sort of thing only a lawyer might pick up on because we're supposed to carefully read between the lines when it comes to the language in contracts. And combined with what Foggy Bear told me about you two dating, and you apparently coming into work a lot with cuts and bruises, I thought I was onto something. Imagine my  _surprise_ when I find a few smartphone videos of you in action where you talk, either to people you've rescued or to criminals you've beaten up, and ...all I can think about is that I'm hearing him speak in your nasally voice."

Matt felt his heart skip a beat. So Marci had figured him out. Marci, who was a little less moral than Foggy or Karen. _But Marci Stahl isn’t a soulless bitch,_ he reminded himself. Foggy trusted her to come through when it came to bringing down Fisk, and she delivered. And Matt knew that she’d worked in a corrupt law firm that were actively engaging in illegal activities. Two, actually, as she and Foggy were dating again and were now working for Jeri Hogarth, who was her own brand of ruthlessness and--as gossip in lawyer circle went--had some skeletons of her own. A lawyer engaged in vigilantism definitely was an ethics violation, but as far as morally wrong things for lawyers to do, it was in the grand scheme of things way below “hiding mobsters’ money, making their legal problems disappear, and bailing out their henchmen”.

If Matt were being honest, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Marci had figured out his secret on her own. She had graduated near top of her class in law school, so she was already pretty smart. And even if it weren't for that, she could've probably found a way to loosen Foggy's lips. Though based on Foggy's surprised reaction to Marci saying "I know", clearly that hadn't happened.

"So how exactly are you even alive?" Marci asked. "That was a 400 foot building that was dropped on your head."

Matt gave Foggy and Marci a short and edited account of what happened leading up to Midland Circle, as well as his recovery. The only thing he didn't mention was the part about Elektra being in the pit, knowing Foggy's dislike for her would've derailed the conversation.

"Can I ask you something, Foggy?" he asked when he got to the end of his story. "Why exactly didn't you bother telling Marci here my secret? You thought I was dead, at that point, there wouldn't be any harm in disclosing it to her."

“Do you have any idea how much life has sucked for Karen and me while you were off doin' your own thing?” Foggy asked, his voice belying the pain and guilt he’d been carrying for the past three months. “I kinda enabled your 'death' as it were, and I thought I'd be betraying your legacy or something by disclosing the truth.”

“I'm sorry, Foggy,” Matt said, lowering his head. “I was wrong to-to leave you like that. And I was wrong to push you away like I did during Frank's trial.”

“Okay, it's insanely hard to fight with you if you keep agreeing with me,” Foggy said.

“Good, because I don't wanna fight with you,” Matt said. He took a deep breath, then curled and uncurled his fingers. “Look, the way I've treated you, the way I've treated you and Karen…you've deserved better.”

“Yes, we did,” Foggy and Marci said simultaneously.

“Yes, you did,” Matt said. He turned to Marci. “That also goes to you, Marci. I know we don’t exactly like each other-”

Marci ran a finger along the rim of her glass. “Yeah, no shit, Matt. I'm not happy about the indirect impact your actions have had on the people in my personal life, but I can’t judge you for what exactly your secret is.”

“You’re okay knowing about what I do at night?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she said, taking a small sip from her martini, “I mean, I guess I should be honest, I had the slightest bit of a crush on the man in the mask, what with those skintight clothes that showed off his hot build." Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment, knowing what she now knew about Matt. "I have always believed in what Daredevil does, especially now, given certain events.” _Wilson Fisk, specifically._ After a pause, she said, “All right, from a legal standpoint, it’s wrong, and we’ll all get disbarred if the truth gets out, but…it’s a lot more moral than everything that happened at Landman  & Zack.”

“Yeah…” Foggy temporarily dismissed himself to the bar to get another round of whiskey, including a fresh glass for Matt.

“So, uh, how’s work? How are things at Hogarth Chao & Benowitz?” Matt asked, eager to change the subject, as he took a sip at his whiskey.

“It’s actually not Hogarth Chao & Benowitz anymore,” Marci said, tracing her martini glass, “The uh, the firm had a breakup. It's now Jeryn Hogarth & Associates.”

“Oh,” Matt said. He _really_ had a lot to catch up on. “That sucks.”

“Jeri got diagnosed a few months back with ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease,” Foggy elaborated, “And Chao and Benowitz, they wanted to use that as an excuse to force her out for all the shit that went down with Kilgrave two years ago.”

Matt had never met Jeri Hogarth, only knowing of her by reputation as well as what he'd heard from his acquaintances with people who worked with her, such as Foggy, Marci, and Jessica. Still, he couldn’t possibly imagine what it must’ve been like for her. What little he knew about ALS was that it was a degenerative disease where one’s nerves slowly shut down, until one was reduced to full-body paralysis. It took at least eight to ten years for the disease to kill someone, though there were some cases of people who lasted much longer than that, like Stephen Hawking.

“She had this new associate of hers, Malcolm Ducasse--you remember him, right? Jessica’s friend?”

Matt nodded. He still remembered Malcolm vaguely, having met him and Jessica when Misty Knight was trying to interrogate the two of them in the 29th Precinct about John Raymond.

“He uncovered some dirt on her partners and she forced them to give her a buyout package, which included two-thirds of the firm and the two of us,” Foggy concluded. “Chao and Benowitz apparently were laundering drug cartels’ money into offshore accounts; Malcolm caught Chao on video discussing it.”

“Good riddance,” Matt said, “Did you move offices?”

Marci shook her head. “We’re still in the Bank of America Tower,” she said, “Same offices. Chao and Benowitz ended up getting the door.”

“Ah,” Matt pursed his lips and sipped his whiskey, “Any new interesting cases come along while you’ve been there?”

“I--uh,” Foggy shifted in his seat, “Luke got into some more trouble recently. He uh, beat the shit out of this dice game runner who was beating his girlfriend and son. The bastard sued him, so I had to step in to negotiate a deal for Luke. $150,000 to appear at some party hosted by an uptown stockbroker. Piranha something or other. Last I heard, he’s now running this old nightclub that used to belong to Mariah Dillard.”

Matt felt a pang of sympathy for Luke, hearing that he’d gotten into more legal troubles. Ex-cons like Luke never had it easy, he thought, even when they were widely adored by the public. _I should make sure to tell him that I’m alive,_ he thought. While he’d told Karen, Foggy and Marci that he was back, the same could not yet be said for his allies at Midland Circle. He made a mental note that he would have to do the rounds at some point, and tell Luke, Jessica, and Danny that he was alive and well. But he would save that for later, once Fisk had been attended to.

"He still with Claire?" Matt stammered.

Foggy shook his head. "They broke up. They had some nasty fight where he put a hole in her wall."

Matt's face fell. "Is Claire all right?" he asked.

"She's taking a break from him; spending time running her own clinic in Harlem."

Matt let a faint smile form on his face. "That's uh, fantastic. Glad to know she landed on her feet, then."

"How so?" Marci asked.

Matt realized Marci didn't know the details of the hospital attack. "The night after Foggy got shot, members of that criminal organization that kidnapped Karen attacked Metro-General," he said, "They killed a couple nurses and guards before escaping. Claire got fired because she refused to go along with their attempt to cover up the incident as a junkie gone crazy."

"...So that's why security was so fuckin' tight when I was there the next day," Marci realized, "Boy, I need to get myself more in the loop on these things."

Matt turned back to Foggy. “Hey, how are Jessica and Danny?” he asked.

Foggy hesitated before answering. “They all got out right before the building collapsed. Detective Knight was severely injured.” He declined to go into specifics, figuring Matt would feel worse knowing that Misty had lost her right arm.  “Colleen and Claire got her out. She’s recovered, though. Danny paid for her to get the best treatment possible.”

Matt sighed. “That’s good.”

"Jessica's still doing work for Hogarth," Foggy continued, "Though I've heard she's had a falling out with Trish for reasons I don't know. And Danny, he left for Asia with Ward Meachum a few weeks ago. Doing some tour of the world. Colleen's taken up his job as Chinatown's resident vigilante."

Matt felt uncomfortable discussing Midland Circle any further, so he decided to change the topic to something a little more personal. “How are you two doing, relationship wise?” he asked, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Great!” Marci blurted before Foggy could say anything. She stammered. “I uh, I mean, better than great. We’re actually, um…well I wouldn’t say we’re considering marriage anytime soon, but I’m half-expecting Foggy Bear to pop the question any day now.”

Foggy blushed, embarrassed. “We’ve been through this, Marci. We’re taking this one day at a time.” 

“I’m glad,” Matt said. “You deserve it.”

“How about you?” Marci asked. She took another sip from her martini. “Does Karen know you’re back yet?”

“Since last night,” Matt said, matter-of-factly. He fidgeted with his hands before saying, “Did you know she moved into my apartment?” 

Foggy shook his head. “N-no. I thought she was just paying the bills.” He hadn’t been back to Matt’s apartment since the beginning of the previous month when Karen had asked him over to help with January’s rent. So either Karen had lied when she said she wasn’t living there, or she’d changed her mind since then. They hadn’t interacted at all until last night when she’d come by the butcher shop to float her theory that Matt was alive, and he’d brushed her off. He realized he probably owed her an apology for not believing in her. 

“No, she’s definitely living there now,” he said, “She said she wanted to make the place as homely as possible for when I inevitably turned up.” 

“How did she take it?” Foggy asked, quietly. “Learning you were still alive?” 

“Better than I expected,” Matt couldn’t help but break into a grin. _I don't think most peoples' reaction to a loved one coming back from the dead would be to have sex with them._

“Ooh!” Marci leaned in, flashing a wide grin. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

Matt cleared his throat. “She kissed me. And then we talked and talked, and then one thing led to another, and the next thing you know…” he trailed off. He rubbed his hands together to indicate that “we made love”.

Marci began giggling like a gossipy teenage girl. Not only had Matt already told Karen he was alive, but her reaction to him showing up was to make love to him? Damn, Karen was a perfect match for Matt. “What is she like in bed?” she asked, nonchalantly.

“Marci-“ Foggy started.

"Uh,” Matt blushed. “Vocal.” 

Marci laughed. “Damn, Murdock! You really score all the exciting chicks, do you!” 

“Tell me about it,” Foggy groaned, embarrassed to be in the presence of his girlfriend as she and Matt discussed sexual conquests. Sex was one of those topics Marci was very upfront about and had no shame about openly discussing.

Matt chuckled. “I think anyone we met at the Presidential Hotel this morning noticed our post-coital glow, though I think they were too proud to comment on it.”

“Were you looking into Fisk?” Foggy asked.

“Yeeeah. We were investigating Fisk,” Matt said after a moment’s hesitation. He could hear the imperceptible change in Foggy’s and Marci’s breathing, a skip in their heartbeats, the way their hairs stood up at the mention of Fisk’s name. He grimaced, “That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to know if you’ve found anything on Fisk that Karen and I might be able to use.”

“Beyond pouring over old Landman & Zack files from the tenement case,” Marci said, “Not much.” She shrugged. “I’m considering talking to Parrish Landman to see if there’s any shit on Fisk that the partners didn’t disclose to the FBI in their plea deals. He was more involved in the operation than I was.” Marci took another sip of her martini.

Matt sighed, lowering his head. He turned in Foggy’s direction and said, “I’m guessing you didn’t sleep a wink at all last night. I can hear it in your voice.”

Foggy scoffed. “What do you expect?” he asked in an incredulous tone. Matt could really be Captain Obvious at times. “Fisk wants my scalp, Matt! And he probably wants yours, too! And yours too, Marci!”

“It’s not like you’ve done him any favors,” Marci said.

“Fisk is out, and I have no idea where that leaves me,” Foggy threw his hands up.

“Then screw the sidelines!” Marci said, stoking her own anger at the whole situation, “We go on the offense!”

Matt and Foggy looked at Marci like she was growing a second nose. She didn’t know the full extent of what Fisk was capable of. “On the offense? With _Fisk_?” Foggy asked, “He has the law and the FBI on his side.”

 _The FBI are probably working for him, too._ “And it's not like we've heard a statement from the DA condemning his release,” Matt said.

“No, no, nothing to jeopardize Blake Tower's reelection!” Foggy exclaimed sarcastically, glancing at the TV above the bar. “God forbid he grow a pair!”

“You talked to him?” Matt asked. He could've sworn that when Tower stepped up to fill the remainder of Reyes' term that he'd do everything to distance the DA's office from the scandal surrounding the disclosure of all the illegal activity Reyes had been engaged in, that he'd be a more competent district attorney. 'More competent' would mean "seeking to prosecute Wilson Fisk on state charges," right? _'Cause Fisk can still be tried at state level independent of whatever he was convicted of in federal court. Just because he beats the charges in the Southern District of New York doesn't mean he beats the charges in the State Supreme Court. And we both know that Fisk's conviction didn't cover every single crime we know he committed before his arrest, or crimes he's definitely committed since then.  
_

Foggy snorted. “Yeah. I went to see him in his office at lunch today. Felt like a waste of my time.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Well I asked him if he was opening a state case against Fisk, since the deal he made only applies at the federal level…and offered to chip in my full support if he had a prosecution team ready.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t take kindly to your proposal,” Matt guessed, based on Foggy’s tone.

“No shit, I might as well have tried to argue with a rock,” Foggy griped, “He says he won’t do anything since Fisk is cooperating with the feds. He was like ‘It’s not my problem, it’s someone else’s’. You should’ve seen his face, Matt. He clearly was more interested in protecting his standing in the race than in doing the right thing. Even when I brought up what Fisk did to Elena, he wouldn’t bite. I cancelled the check I was going to make out to his campaign.”

Matt knew Elena Cardenas had meant a lot to Foggy. He and Karen had been the ones who handled most of the work on her case while Matt had been preoccupied with finding Vladimir, and, following the bombings, finding Owlsley. In fact, he’d gotten the most drunk out of all three of them when they’d come to Josie’s to drown their sorrows after she was murdered.

“Do you ever wish we had done more?” Matt asked, quietly.

“With Elena?” Foggy asked. “Of course I do. Even now I keep playing back different scenarios in my head where we did some different, she’s still breathing and her tenement isn’t torn down for some Yakuza skyscraper.”

Matt sighed. “I know…”

“But she doesn’t mean shit to Tower, ‘cause she’s dead and she can’t vote for him.” Foggy downed about half his whiskey glass. “What about you, have you got anything?”

Matt nodded. “As a matter of fact, Karen and I made great progress today,” he said, a faint smile.

“Really? That’s excellent!” Foggy said. “What did you learn?”

Matt took a deep breath. “So we went to the Presidential and paid Fisk’s lawyer Ben Donovan a little a visit-”

“As the mask or as Daredevil?” Foggy interjected.

“As Daredevil,” Matt replied, “Come on, Donovan kinda deserves it given who he works for. Anyways, he told us that Fisk turned on the Albanians because apparently, the Feds were seeking to have Vanessa charged as an accessory to his crimes if she ever set foot on US soil.”

“Fisk's art gallery girlfriend?” Marci asked. “She never struck me as the type to get her hands dirty.”

Matt shrugged. “I think the Feds just want her for questioning, ‘cause they think Fisk confided details of his criminal activities to her. And, y’know, she’s the only member of Fisk’s old inner circle that’s still alive, since all the other shotcallers are dead. Owlsley, Wesley, Gao, Nobu, Anatoly and Vladimir…”

“Shit…” Marci muttered.

“Of course, I am a lawyer, so I know that what Donovan said to us was technically coerced and inadmissible,” Matt resumed his recap of the day, “So Karen and I paid a visit to the FBI’s Organized Crime Division this afternoon, and got the SAC, Tammy Hattley, to confirm the details of Fisk’s deal.” He paused, trying to formulate an appropriate bridge into the related topic, the Kazemi attack.

“Anything else?” Foggy asked.

“You know that developer who got attacked on Sunday night?” Matt asked. “Rostam Kazemi?”

“I’ve occasionally watched the reality show that his daughter’s on,” Marci answered.

“Fisk was behind the attack,” he continued. He lowered his voice to a whisper only audible to Foggy and Marci. “And he's has bought the Presidential Hotel.”

Marci gasped. “Seriously?” she whispered, sounding outraged more than anything.

“According to Neda, Fisk bought the hotel from Kazemi using a shell company,” Matt explained, “Kazemi regretted the sale and was about to buy the hotel back.”

“Jeez louise…” Foggy said. If only he had information like that when he had met with Tower…

“Karen’s currently doing some digging into that lead to see if she can find any other shell companies that Fisk might own. That’s why she isn’t with me right now.” Matt turned to Foggy specifically. “You know, if you’re trying to pressure Tower into opening a state case against Fisk, this might be your best shot.”

“Assuming Tower grows a pair and gets his head out of his ass,” Foggy muttered.

Matt noticed that Marci had gone deathly silent and was studying them like a predator stalking its prey. He couldn’t see, but he could tell from her breathing pattern, and the way she was again idly tracing the rim of her martini glass again, that something was on her mind, like she was formulating a sneak attack, the kind she was known for doing in court.

“Oh, that could work,” Marci abruptly said.

Foggy looked at her. _Were you not listening to everything I just said?_ “Blake Tower growing a pair? Not gonna happen.”

“No, no, no,” Marci waved her hand, gesturing, “think about it! The best way to protect yourself from Fisk is to make noise, is to be out in the open!”

“Oh, like a public execution,” Foggy sarcastically replied.

“Like a public call to action,” she said, exasperated, “If Blake Tower won't do anything to stop Fisk, then run against him for district attorney!” She chuckled. It seemed like the perfect plan to her, what with the mountain of new leads Matt had dropped into their lap. “Come on, if you're already a target, you might as well be the first person to take a swing.”

Matt could tell Foggy was skeptical of Marci’s proposal.

“No, I'm serious!” she continued, “The more public you are, the more you're protected!”

“There's no way I can win,” he protested.

“Well, of course not,” Marci said.

“Thank you for the confidence. Anyways, we're light-years past the deadline.” _And the primary's only a month away._

“Then run as a write-in,” she said, “You base your candidacy on a single issue: Putting Fisk back behind bars. You'd bag a few votes. I mean, not enough to win, but you'd get the issue out there. Plus, you'd make a few friends in the NYPD, and that's not the worst thing for a defense attorney.” She added, in a quieter voice that only Matt and Foggy could pick up, “That, or you could change the locks.”

It seemed like an interesting idea, Foggy thought. With this new information Matt had given him, he could stick it to Tower’s face and also make Fisk know how unafraid his opposition was. And on the off-chance that he did win, Foggy realized, he would be able to prosecute Fisk to the fullest extent of the law and then some, and throw him in some prison far removed from his network of influence. Even if he didn’t win the election, it wouldn’t be a huge loss, as it would be on public record that he’d participated, and it would leave the doors open for him and Marci to pursue new career opportunities. Moreso for Marci, who had always said she was open to new, exciting journeys that took her far away from her roots as a “shark”.

“Sure! Why not,” Foggy said, after about a minute, “I’ve always wanted to take a stab at politics.” He turned to Matt, hoping that Matt would give him his full support. “Matt?”

Matt, on the other hand, was vehemently opposed to the idea of Foggy running for the District Attorney seat. Truth be told, he couldn’t deny that Marci had made sound arguments. But making himself this public? It sounded like a tragedy just waiting to happen. When Fisk had threatened him in prison, he'd declared war on both Matt AND Foggy. As soon as Fisk found out that Matt’s best friend had entered the D.A.’s race on an “anti-Fisk” platform, he would likely stop at nothing to ruin him, and make his life a living hell. He could get Foggy and/or Marci disbarred. He could have the family butcher shop closed down for “health code violations”. And that was _without_ Foggy winning. If Foggy won, the best case scenario he could hope for would be that Fisk wouldn’t use his influence and connections to make Foggy his own puppet. And what would that entail? Make Foggy throw out cases against Fisk’s associates in exchange for his family and Marci being kept safe? Destroy evidence and threaten witnesses? That was not a pretty fantasy.

“No,” Matt said, getting up, “Don’t do it, Foggy. Just…don’t.”

“No!” Foggy said. “I’m doing this.”

Matt paused. _Foggy, you don’t realize how much danger you’re putting yourself in._ “Foggy, _please…_ ”

“Marci’s got a point, we have to get this out in the open!” Foggy said. “Plus I’m sure Karen would love to write an article or two about my pretty face.”

Matt sighed, getting up. “I’m sorry, but it’s not safe, Foggy.”

Before Foggy could say another word, Matt had walked out of the bar.

Foggy turned around to Marci, who looked as confused as he was regarding Matt’s reaction.

“For fuck’s sake, go after him!” she exclaimed. “Foggy Bear, he clearly doesn’t get what this could do for you, and for him!” Foggy hesitated. He knew Matt was in a state to listen and see reason, so he should go after him. But he was worried that someone might take advantage of the distraction to slip something in his drink. Sensing his indecision, Marci added, “I’ll hold your drink…”

Foggy sighed and grabbed his coat off his barstool. Marci was right. He shouldn’t let Matt get away without at least getting a few words in.

He hurried over to the door and exited out to the street. He looked around, probing the sidewalks in either direction to see where Matt was. Then he heard the sound of a cane tapping on the concrete, and saw Matt a quarter of the way down the block, headed towards Ninth Avenue, and presumably back in the direction of his apartment.

“Matt!” Foggy shouted. “Matt, hold up! Matt! Please! Buddy, come on! Matt!”

To his relief, Matt stopped and turned around to face Foggy. _Thank you,_ Foggy silently prayed. He took a step towards Matt, who clearly hadn’t counted on him sounding so desperate.

“Look, I honestly don’t give a shit how exactly you survived a building falling on your head,” Foggy said, pleading, “But I meant what I said back in there. It’s been terrible for me and Karen! You know, I blamed myself for your death! I brought your suit to the precinct that night, despite knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do. Do you have any idea how shitty I felt, thinking that I’d just sent you to your grave? Do you have any idea of the nightmares I’ve had?”

“Nightmares?” Matt whispered. He knew Foggy and Karen had been hit hard by his  “death”, but he hadn’t realized until now how much worse it would’ve been for Foggy.

“Yeah,” Foggy said, “Tons of concrete came crashing down on my best friend, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I keep dreaming, I’m arriving at the building just in time to see it blow up, and…then I—then I wake up screaming, and Marci’s screaming too...”

Matt felt butterflies in his stomach. “Foggy, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quivering. “I didn’t know...”

“I didn’t want to admit it in front of Marci,” Foggy said, “She’s been trying to hook me up with a therapist, but…” he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t feel comfortable spilling your secret out to complete strangers.”

“Foggy, there’s this thing called doctor-patient privilege,” Matt said, “It works just like confessional.”

“I know that!” he responded, “And look, Matt, I know you think differently, but this isn’t like the last time we went after Fisk. I’m actually going in knowing who my enemy is!”

Matt gave him a small nod, which Foggy took as a win. "I know,": he murmured.

“Besides, I'm thinking, maybe I don't enter intending to win this election,” Foggy continued, “And Marci’s got a point. Fisk needs to be the talking point of political discussion. He doesn’t belong on the streets, and Tower isn’t doing anything public to oppose the FBI’s bullshit decision.” He paused. “Besides, it might even gain me a bit of prestige within certain circles. Open up a bunch of new career paths for me and for Marci.”

“I know,” Matt said quietly. _None of that will matter though if Fisk comes after you._ “But Foggy, Fisk is ten steps ahead of us. I’ve heard he’s even made threats against you…” He declined to mention the exact details of his visit to Fisk in prison, figuring that Foggy would ream him out for intentionally prodding the metaphorical grizzly bear . “…are you prepared for what will happen when he finds out you’re running on a single-issue platform centered around putting him away?”

“I, uh…”

“And for the record, it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s me,” Matt’s voice was on the verge of breaking and he began talking faster, “If he finds out I’m Daredevil, I doubt he’ll go after me right away.”

“But you were the one who stopped him from escaping,” Foggy pointed out, “And you were the one who broke up what he had with the Russians.”

“Fisk prefers death by a thousand cuts,” Matt countered, recalling what Healy had said to him, “If he knows my secret identity, and he knows that you know it, he’s more likely to use your knowledge of that to get you disbarred. Remember when you told me that no one would believe you and Karen didn’t know all along about what I’ve been up to?”

“I-“  Foggy started.

“And he won’t stop at you, either,” Matt continued, “You have to think of your family. Have you even _considered_ what Fisk will do to them? To Theo? To your parents?”

Matt could hear Foggy's heartbeat shaking at the implications of his words.

"No," Foggy whispered. “I haven’t.”

“Look, I can’t tell you to do anything,” Matt admitted, “You can run against Tower, I won’t stop you. But please, if you don’t have a backup plan on hand in case the worst happens, get one now.” He felt his braille watch with his left hand. _Christ, I need to go meet with Karen to discuss what she’s dug up on the Vancorp deal._ “You’re my best friend, Foggy. I don’t want to bury you no more than you don’t want to bury me.”

Foggy stepped forward and hugged him tightly, and Matt reciprocated, feeling a little less anxious.

“It’s good to have you back, Matt,” he said.

“Me too,” Matt said.

They pulled away, and Matt turned around, beginning to walk away.

 “Hey one more thing,” Foggy spoke up. Matt stopped and swiveled back to face Foggy again.   _What now?_

“I was just thinking, maybe we should meet up for dinner tomorrow night.” Foggy shrugged sheepishly, “Like, we could do some kind of a double date;  me and Marci, you and Karen?”

Matt gripped his cane and Foggy thought he saw the edges of Matt’s mouth curling up, like a smile was trying to break loose. “Yeah. Yeah, that…that’s a great idea actually,” he said, chuckling, “When was the last time we were all in a room together anyways? When Reyes was killed and you got shot?" _Man, has it been that long._

"Yeah, that was it," Foggy nodded.

"Assuming Fisk hasn’t killed both of us by then, I'm all for it,” Matt said.

“So is that a yes?”

Matt nodded. “Perhaps Karen and I can touch base with you two and we can pool all information we’ve uncovered on Fisk into one big picture.”

Foggy smiled and nodded. “Hopefully. You take care of yourself, Matt.”

“Goodnight, Foggy,” Matt said, giving Foggy a small but polite smile. "We'll see you and Marci tomorrow."

And with that, he turned and resumed walking towards his apartment. He could hear Foggy standing right behind him, smiling back at the sight of his best friend. He laughed as he heard Foggy say to himself, "I really really want to start getting paid in pastries and cobbler again."

* * *

**Presidential Hotel:**

Dex and Lim were assigned with serving Fisk his dinner tonight. Tonight, it was baked beans, rice, and asparagus from room service, all segregated on a tray that seemed more appropriate for an elementary school cafeteria than for a grown convict.

"Bon appétit, _asshole_ ," Lim sneered, removing the lid from the tray. He exited the room, leaving Fisk alone with Dex, the rookie FBI agent who had killed the Albanians. Dex stood attentively by the stairs, his arms folded across his chest. Fisk was intrigued by the young officer's uncanny shooting abilities, and the way he used strategic trick shots to take out the gunmen, bouncing bullets off street signs and lightpoles to catch hidden targets. He'd never known anyone who could pull off shots like that.

 _Felix is currently digging up information on you,_ Fisk thought.  _In the meanwhile, I oughta soften you up, to see if you're the right fit for my organization._ "It's Special Agent Poindexter, isn't it?" he asked, trying to strike up a friendly conversation with the young agent.  "You saved my life last night."

"Yeah, we all make mistakes," Dex replied, dismissively.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your fellow agents," Fisk continued. He decided to try the same tactic Wesley had encouraged him to use when they held that press conference that had followed Elena Cardenas's death: he'd offer condolences for the fallen agents, figuring that it would make him seem more human to Dex, and subsequently, get Dex to open up to him.

 _Oh, how I wish Wesley_ _were here. He was a lot better at this thing._ It was times like this that made Fisk wish that Wesley wasn't dead. Fisk was not a man very good with words, compared to Wesley, who had been much more talkative and also was much better at getting Fisk's messages across when palms needed to be greased, when someone needed to be strongarmed into doing a job. "Losing them to protect someone like me must be particularly difficult for the families and the loved ones. I'd offer my condolences, but I imagine it brings them greater comfort to hate me. Unless you feel otherwise. That my words might bring any positive effect. If so, please share that, from what I witnessed, they were incredibly brave."

Dex wasn't all that impressed by Fisk's attempt to empathize with him.  _I don't care._ "Might wanna eat faster, convict," he said, "The meal's over in five."

"I owe those fallen agents...a debt that I can never repay," Fisk said. "But...I also owe you. I've known extraordinary people." _Daredevil, Madame Gao, Nobu. But they were all gifted people with...abilities. And you, Special Agent Poindexter, you're just a normal FBI agent. You could easily hold your own against one of them._ "But I've never seen a talent like yours. May I ask you where you acquired such a skill?"

"Okay, you're done." Dex immediately marched over to the table and took the tray away from Fisk. Fisk watched him intently as he exited out the doors into the hallway. _Oh well,  I tried. Felix ought to have something for me to seduce you with in the next few days..._ He wasn't yet ready to give up on turning Dex. He would be more efficient than any other assassin Fisk had ever used for wet work in the past, which would be essential if any of the gifted vigilantes decided to come after him. Plus it would be a very effective threat when it came to gangs that didn't want in on Fisk's new protection racket: "you can pay me a cut, or I can have this highly trained assassin of mine kill you from a mile away."

Fisk spent the next few hours thinking about what exactly he could do to sway Dex to his side. Last night's attack couldn't have been the first time Dex had ever used lethal force. And to achieve such shooting accuracy, he would have had to have practiced perfecting his aim for years, maybe decades. The truth was, beyond his shooting abilities, Fisk didn't know anything about Dex. No idea if he had any friends, family, any hobbies outside of work... Then he remembered, he  _did_ someone on his payroll who'd know all about these things: Tammy Hattley. As the Special Agent in Charge, she oversaw all of the agents on Fisk's protective detail and, he had directed her (by way of Felix Manning) to handpick the team based on who would be the easiest to sway into working for him.

Hattley had been the first FBI agent he'd turned, way back before the whole mess with Union Allied, with the Russians, with Nelson & Murdock.  It had been one of John Healy's finest pieces of work, up there with his hits on Julius Carbone and Frank Costa in the fall of 2012. Both of which were better pieces of work in contrast to his final job with killing Prohazska, which not only had been sloppy, but had been what caused Nelson & Murdock to find out about Fisk. Using a cab that Anatoly and Vladimir had loaned from Veles Taxi, Healy had run down Hattley's son Richard while the little boy was riding his bike home from school. 

A few days after Healy had run down little Richard, Wesley visited the Hattleys' house, and after expressing some false sympathies about understanding the grief of losing a child, he made Hattley an offer she couldn't refuse: she  _would_ work for Fisk, selling him intel about investigations against him, and in turn, Fisk wouldn't hurt her daughter or her husband. Since then, Hattley had proven very reliable. She had come through for Fisk when Detective Hoffman turned on him, selling his allies the necessary information about Fisk's motorcade route from his penthouse to the prison so they could break him out. While Daredevil had thwarted his escape efforts in the end, Fisk was lenient on Hattley as it was unrealistic to expect that she could've anticipated such a possible intervention. So he had allowed her to live, on the condition that she assist him in turning Ray Nadeem; and make Nadeem so desperate that he'd ignore warning signs that his informant deal with Fisk was extremely flawed.

Turning Hattley and Nadeem had been easy, because Fisk knew exactly what their weaknesses were and how to exploit them. He couldn't say the same for Dex, who seemed to be a loner who kept to himself and also appeared to be putting on an act of stoicism to mask some serious anger issues. To turn Dex, he'd need to know what his strengths and weaknesses were. To find out what those were, he'd need to obtain access to Dex's FBI file and medical records, and to obtain those, he'd need Hattley. As Fisk considered his options, something else occurred to him about Dex's actions during the shooting: he hadn't killed all of the Albanians in self-defense. With two of them, he'd disassembled a gun he'd taken off another killer and lobbed the individual parts into their throats like throwing daggers, _after_ they had dropped their weapons and had shouted that they were surrendering. No cop would want to admit to such a mistake. They'd be more likely to falsify their report and claim self-defense, as Fisk suspected Dex had done.

Fortune was on Fisk's side here, because he was smart when it came to determining which cops to pay off. One reason he'd been able to ensure Detectives Blake and Hoffman stayed loyal to him,  and the same for officers like Carl Burbank, Robert Corbin, Danny Coogan, David Blanders and others like them, was that he'd bribed members of the NYPD Internal Affairs Bureau to squash any internal use of force investigations against them. When it came to subverting the FBI, he'd done the same thing by paying off senior agents in the FBI's equivalent of Internal Affairs, which they called the Office of Professional Responsibility.

Fisk was just about ready to head to his secret room so he could contact Hattley and relay orders for an OPR investigation to be opened into Dex's actions, when he saw the red lights on the security cameras turn off.  _What is Donovan doing here?_ he thought. Moments later, Donovan strode in. He looked rattled, scared out of his mind. Fisk was most concerned about the fact that Donovan was now sporting a bandage covering up a fresh cut on the left side of his face. _What the hell happened to him? Did the Albanians get to him?_

“We have a situation, Mr. Fisk,” Donovan said as soon as the agents on guard duty shut the doors behind him.

"Vanessa?" Fisk asked. Despite Donovan and Lee's assurances earlier in the day that Vanessa was safe in Barcelona, he couldn't help but continue worrying about her.

"She's still safe," Donovan answered quickly. "Felix Manning also wants to inform you that he's got people lined up to follow Agent Poindexter when he leaves the hotel, and that Jasper Evans has been released as per your instructions."

"Where is Evans?" Fisk asked.

"He's at his son's place in Hell's Kitchen," Donovan reported, "Laying low as ordered. But that's not why I'm here. There's a much more pressing matter that must be addressed."

Fisk stared at Donovan. "Yes, the injury on your face makes that very clear. What happened to you?"

“It's Karen Page,” Donovan answered, rubbing his throat unconsciously from where the masked man had choked him. “She's onto us."

Fisk was not surprised by this bombshell. With the news of his release, and his previous attempts to dispose of Karen Page for the Union Allied scandal, he was expecting that the ambitious  _Bulletin_ reporter would come after him. Though this didn't mean he wasn't worried. Karen had very questionable morals, based on what Felix's investigators had dug up about her. Not to mention it would be very hard to keep an eye on her, since with Maria Caldwell's arrest, he had no spies within the _Bulletin_ who'd be able to give him advance warning to whatever Karen was doing.

“Karen Page?” he asked, just to make sure he wasn't hearing things wrong.

“After our earlier meeting today, she confronted me in the garage,” Donovan explained, “She wanted to know why you turned on the Albanians.”

Donovan paused momentarily, trying to decide how to explain that the masked Daredevil had been with her. It didn't help him that Fisk could read his face and could tell he had something else to say that he wasn't sure his client was going to be receptive to.

"And?" Fisk asked, sounding impatient.

Donovan swallowed. “She was accompanied by a man in a business suit wearing a black ski mask. I think...” he hesitated. "...the man looked and sounded an awful lot like Daredevil."

 _Daredevil?_ Fisk thought. _But that's not possible._ All indications were that Daredevil had died under Midland Circle.  _Though that suit was made from the same bulletproof material Potter made my suits from. If it could protect me from a switchblade, it could protect someone from being crushed. And if the suit is badly damaged, that could explain why he's wearing that old black mask he wore when he challenged me and Nobu._ “You are sure?” he asked.

“He took out six feds,” Donovan said. He seemed more astonished than anything at what he’d seen Daredevil do, even after the beating the man had inflicted upon him. “He wasn’t in a red suit, but yeah. It was him.”

Fisk turned to the window and contemplated the news. He had to admit, it wasn't much of a surprise that Daredevil was back. The man hated his guts. And he had a very annoying habit of surviving things that should’ve killed him. He managed to survive the trap that the Ranskahovs had set for him. He'd come back with a vengeance after the flaying Nobu had given him at the docks. And somehow, he managed to survive a 40 story skyscraper falling down on his head.

It also wasn't much of a surprise that Karen Page would be actively working with Daredevil. She was known for her unconventional reporting methods; her dalliances with Daredevil and the Punisher were both well known in all the papers. And she had been saved by the masked man twice. Working with him was probably her way of expressing her gratitude.

“So the Devil is back…” he said. "The Devil and the reporter."

“It would appear that way,” Donovan added.

Fisk turned around and faced Donovan again. “What did you tell them?”

"I told them about Vanessa," Donovan replied, "How the FBI are dropping the charges against her in exchange for your testimony. I did not tell them anything about the wedding or about what you're doing with Rosalie Carbone, Yangshi-Gonshi and the others."

Okay, that was admittedly harmless. Fisk's protection racket was safe. "We shouldn't have to worry," Fisk said, "If Karen Page is smart, she knows that she can't print anything you said to her."

Donovan shook his head. "About that, Mr Fisk? We might have a bit of a problem there."

Fisk raised his eyebrows. "Explain."

Donovan shifted as he resumed, "Special Agent Hattley tells me that Karen Page showed up at the FBI offices this afternoon, and asked her a bunch of questions about our deal. Not only that, but she was accompanied by Matt Murdock."

It took some effort for Fisk to keep his temper reined in at the mention of Matt Murdock. Matt Murdock, the blind lawyer who had the nerve to visit him in prison and threaten to separate him from his beloved Vanessa for the price of $6 postage. Matt Murdock, who had visited him and Vanessa at her art gallery. Matt Murdock, who led the opposition party that sought to topple Fisk from his pedestal throughout the tenement case. Matt Murdock, who had used his law firm to help Detective Hoffman cut a deal with the FBI, which had been what led to Fisk's own incarceration. 

As much as Fisk resented Matt Murdock, he and Karen Page were just small, irritating nuisances that could be dealt with. However, he'd have to be very delicate. Karen couldn't be killed. Fisk knew that if she died, Daredevil and the Punisher would stop at nothing to put him down, especially if they connected her death to him. And while Daredevil didn't kill, the Punisher had no such qualms about killing, even killing a high-ranking member of the CIA from what he'd heard.

Instead, Fisk rationalized, there was a much simpler option that would kill multiple birds with one stone: after turning Dex, he would get the FBI agent outfitted in a Daredevil costume and send him out on a killing spree. Among the tasks he'd accomplish, it would destroy Karen's credibility, since it didn't seem to him like anyone would want to listen to a reporter who was affiliated with a murderer like Daredevil. Assuming of course, the ignorant public were willing to swallow the idea that the masked vigilante who provided all the evidence against Fisk was in fact secretly a psychopathic killer. Given how they had once believed he was responsible for the bombings of the Russians and the death of Detective Blake, it wouldn't be too hard to sway them again. Which would do wonders as far as getting the federal judges to expedite his appeal. And it would be a fitting way to punish Melvin Potter for assisting the real Daredevil.

"Mr. Fisk?" Donovan asked, concerned at his client's silence. "What do you want me to do?"

Fisk made up his mind. "Do nothing about Matthew Murdock or Karen Page," he rumbled, "For now."

"But sir, they're poking in all the right places. It's only a matter of time before they find out the truth about how you got out."

Fisk bit his lower lip and put his hands behind his back. "And when that time comes, Agent Poindexter will be the right man to deal with them both.  If his actions still do not sway Miss Page, well...I happen to know she's done some things that she'd rather the readers at the _Bulletin_ don't know about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The mentioned shell companies Karen finds will sound familiar to fans of the comics. WFSK was the name of a radio station where Karen worked for a bit in the late 1990s under the stage name "Paige Angel". And Kelco was the chemical company that Foggy got a job at during Born Again and the Typhoid Mary arc. I also unashamedly used Lester Freamon's "how to follow the money" speech from the first season of The Wire to describe Karen's research process, as it actually made sense given the context (Karen identifying shell companies Fisk is using to launder money).
> 
> \- The scene where Matt reveals he's alive to Foggy in the actual show involved him approaching Foggy in an unnamed bar. Here, I've changed the bar to Josie's, and combined the scene with the scene from the start of the following episode in Foggy and Marci's Brooklyn condo, where Marci encourages Foggy to run for District Attorney. There's a few reasons for this: for starters, I needed to have a way for Matt to learn that Foggy was running for District Attorney. But more importantly, Marci Stahl has a bigger role in this story than she did in the actual season. I had expected Marci to have a bigger role in season 3, and Amy Rutberg did great with the material she was provided, but she only appeared in five episodes and Marci was relegated to being a supporting character in Foggy's story. (In fact, that's a problem most of the women in season 3 outside of Karen face, being mostly 'the love interest of one of the male leads', which applies not just to Marci, but also to Vanessa (Fisk's fiancee), Julie (Dex's friend), and Seema (Nadeem's wife).) Frankly, I think Marci should have been taking Fisk getting out just as personally as Foggy did, given that she supplied Nelson & Murdock with information that led them to Carl Hoffman, and she used to work for a law firm that was on Fisk's payroll, and needed more people to interact with outside of Foggy. So I'm fixing those two aspects, giving Marci more to contribute to the investigation and also give her scenes with Matt and Karen.
> 
> \- Since Matt is in his suit and tie here, I essentially combined two of the Sister Maggie scenes together. Parts of it are from "No Good Deed" (before he goes to see Foggy at the bar), and other parts are from "The Devil You Know" (when he stops here after he and Karen pick up Jasper Evans, and is preparing to go to the Bulletin to surrender to the FBI)
> 
> \- I posit that Hattley was already turned by the time season 1 happened. In my headcanon, it was her inside information that Fisk used to attempt his jailbreak in the finale. What supports this is that IMDb says that the actor who played Agent Johnson (one of the other minor agents on the FBI detail in season 3) was the dirty FBI SWAT officer in the truck with Fisk who shot his colleague in the head (though that could just be a coincidence, just like how Angel Rosa, the actual NYPD cop/part-time actor who played a dirty cop on Fisk's payroll in season 1, also played one of the cops who responded to Matt and Nadeem's break-in at Dex's apartment).


	7. Karen the Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen has some shocking confessions to make. She and Matt pool their information they've uncovered about Fisk.

As Karen walked to hers and Matt’s place, she made a stop at the Thai restaurant around the corner from the apartment, which, miraculously, was still open. The entire time, she was thinking of how best to reveal to Matt what she had done to Wesley. She was deeply afraid that Matt was not going to take the news well. She had once tried to test the waters in coming clean with him, way back in the midst of Frank’s trial, when they were having their “study date” preparing for the medical examiner’s testimony, Matt had gotten very defensive, insisting that only God had the right to decide whether someone should live or die. In hindsight, Karen realized there was probably more to what Matt had meant, such as past encounters with Frank, but he’d been unable to explain his point of view because that would’ve required having to admit that he was Daredevil.  Still, she realized, Matt deserved to know the truth. About Wesley, and about her brother.

Was it a good time to come clean with Matt about what had happened with Kevin? It wouldn’t really change anything regarding their investigation of Fisk, beyond the possibility that Fisk would use his influence with the press to discredit her, if he did enough digging into her background. Wesley, on the other hand, she _absolutely_ needed to inform Matt about that. It would be a game changer, not just for their investigation, but for their relationship. Matt had told her at the Indian restaurant that his relationship with Elektra had been built on lies, kinda like the relationship Karen had with him. Matt had always seen Karen as this picture of idealized innocence, yet now, she was hesitant to shatter it, figuring he’d push her away for being like another Elektra. But, she acknowledged, it was something that needed doing. Even if Wesley’s death had never been reported in any of the newspapers, there was no way that Fisk couldn’t have known about it. And if he ever found out she was responsible for it, she had no doubt that he would come for her and kill her, and everyone she ever cared about. She could not let that happen to Matt. To Foggy. To her colleagues at the _Bulletin_. Hell, not even to her father, despite the fact they hadn’t talked at all in years.

When she got into the apartment, Matt was sitting on the couch. He’d cleared the coffee table off and it was now covered in countless folders of braille documents.

“Hey,” he said, getting up at the sound of her walking in and hanging up her coat. He sniffed. “Is that Thai food I can smell?”

Karen giggled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“Going through our old case files,” Matt said, motioning in the direction of the mess on the coffee table. “Everything to do with Union Allied, Confed Global, and Tully. Trying to see if there’s anything we overlooked.”

Karen followed Matt over to the couch, and waited as he meticulously organized all of the files into a stack and relocated them to his desk, so she’d have space to set down the food.

“Pretty sure that’s the definition of insanity,” she quipped, “Doing something over and over again, hoping for a different result with every try.”

“If you’ve got a better idea, Karen, please say so,” Matt teased. He could sense that Karen was still standing, watching him. “You wanna sit?” He motioned for Karen to sit down on the couch next to him and they began digging in.

As they ate, Karen felt a sense of familiarity, thinking a bit about how many eons it had been since they’d last done this, sitting on the couch, discussing case strategy over Thai food. That was way back during Frank’s trial.

“How did your chat with Foggy go?” she asked.

Matt smiled, sheepishly. “Yeah, I told him. Marci was there with him.”

“That’s good,” Karen said. “How did he take it? Knowing you’re alive?”

“He was relieved to see me,” Matt said, “A little upset about the whole ‘dying’ thing, but a lot less than I was expecting, given the imminent threat.”

Karen pursed her lips. “And Marci?”

“He told her the truth about me,” Matt said, scowling.

“Oh.” Karen wasn’t too surprised at all to learn that Foggy had confided Matt’s secrets over to Marci. Marci was a shark, and Karen knew that a woman like her had to be very good at what she did to be taken seriously as a lawyer. She and Foggy were also living together, so she’d know that Foggy was hiding something big about Matt from her. And with Foggy more resigned to believing Matt was dead, it wouldn’t take too much for Marci to pressure Foggy into telling her the truth, probably with the same ruthlessness that she used to cross-examine witnesses in court. At least, as far as Karen could see. She couldn’t help but feel  a wee bit anxious over the fact that there was another name to add to the list of people who were aware of Matt’s secret identity, because the more people that knew, the more likely it was that Fisk would find out. Especially when Marci hadn't always been on the side of the angels, at least for Karen.

“Did you learn anything new about Fisk?” she asked.

Matt shrugged. “Not much. Marci’s been looking through old Landman & Zack files all day. Foggy went to City Hall today to see if Blake Tower is pursuing a case against Fisk at the state level.”

“And is he?” If Tower was pulling out all the stops to pursue Fisk, then perhaps her work at the _Bulletin_ would be cut out for her.

Matt shook his head. “No. Foggy said Tower was dismissive of him and kicked him out of his office.”

Karen sighed. “Damn…” she lowered her head. “I guess Tower really doesn’t want to touch a political landmine that could sink his standing in the polls.”

“Maybe not entirely,” Matt said, measuring his words. “Marci convinced Foggy that he should run against Tower as a write-in candidate.”

Karen stared at him. _Foggy Nelson as a write-in candidate?_ Now that was unexpected. She’d known for Foggy for four years, and he never struck her as the kind of person who would get involved in politics.

“He is?” she asked, making sure she hadn’t misheard.

“Yep,” Matt said, bluntly, “But not with the intention of winning. Just doing it to get Tower’s inaction against Fisk out into the public. ‘Make himself so visible that Fisk won’t touch him’, as Marci put it.”

From the scowl Matt was making, Karen could tell he didn’t seem too thrilled by the prospect of Foggy in City Hall.

“You don’t seem too thrilled by this,” she said.

Matt sighed, loosening up. “It’s a terrible idea, Karen.”

“I think it’s a great idea, honestly!” she replied, “Foggy deserves a little recognition! And he’s got an excellent track record. Between bringing down Fisk, defending Castle, and exonerating Luke Cage, there’s no way that my colleagues aren’t going to eat it up. Everyone loves a good underdog story.” And as District Attorney, Foggy would have all the authority in the world to prosecute Fisk. He even had an existing base that would support him, since he was on good terms with almost all of the cops in the 15th Precinct. Those cops really could use a morality boost, ever since the day when the FBI marched about a third of the precinct’s personnel out the front doors in handcuffs.

“I know,” he said, fidgeting with his hands. “And I want the best for Foggy too. I really do. I just…” he trailed off, hanging his head in silence. He resumed. “…He is such an idealist. And after everything we’ve been through, everything we've seen Fisk do, he still believes the law will win.”

“Come on, Matt,” Karen objected, “You used to have faith in the system too.”

“We put Fisk in prison, Karen, and look what happened!” Matt snapped. “He just manipulated or worse, bribed the FBI into letting him out. He's twisted the law into something that helps him. I know Foggy believes working within the system will get results, but Fisk isn’t a normal criminal. He can’t be dealt with without going outside the system. You of all people know that.”

Karen sighed.  _Right, I'm the one he tried to kill twice._ “Point taken…”

Matt took a deep breath, deciding to change the subject. “What did you find on Vancorp?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s certainly a hot lead,” she said. “Fisk owns the hotel. Well, I still don’t have enough proof yet, but I’m pretty certain that a hotel that’s owned by a line of nested shell companies, each of whom has had a charter to do business in the US filed by Fisk’s lawyers, and with a company name that sounds like it’s short for ‘Vanessa Corp.’, that’s a glaring red flag. I think that might be worth putting in the story.”

“You’ll need corroboration from someone willing to go on record,” Matt observed.

“And an editor who’s willing to let you run it,” Karen muttered, under her breath.

“He won’t bite?”

“No!” Karen said, clenching her teeth, “Ellison thinks my past associations with Fisk make it where anything I print on him will taint the paper.” She was still frustrated by Ellison’s directive that she stay off the Fisk stories. “Gosh, he’s so…wrong, and it’s just…URGH!” she curled her hands into fists. “I know, I’m biased! Fisk tried to have me killed! But I know more about what Fisk does and is capable of; I know people who’ve gotten all the way to the top of Fisk’s enterprise. And what does he think? ‘You’re not on this story, Karen; Mason will take all your rightful credit because your connection will open us up to lawsuits’. It’s bullshit! As if the paper wasn’t already compromised when Fisk paid Caldwell to spy on Ben!”  

Matt unclenched one of her hands and squeezed it.

“I’m sure Ellison’s just looking out for your safety, Karen. He lost Ben, I doubt he wants to lose another reporter to Fisk.”

Karen took a deep breath. Of course Ellison would be worried about her wellbeing given her habit of running into life-threatening stories. It wasn't just with Union Allied and with Fisk; he'd known about everything that happened with Frank Castle and with the Blacksmith, where she'd been shot at twice, got used as bait, and nearly got killed by Colonel Schoonover, her getting kidnapped by the Hand as bait for Matt, and her nearly being blown to smithereens by Lewis Wilson. Still, it annoyed Karen that Ellison hadn't just come to accept that 'danger' was basically her middle name. _If that was kindness disguised as cruelty…_ “If he’s being protective, he’s doing it the wrong way. 'Cause I can take care of myself.”

“Was there anything else you found in your search?” he asked.

Karen took a deep breath. “There’s a few banks that are being repped by Donovan’s firm in the US, but seeing as it’s after business hours, I won’t be able to check them out until tomorrow morning,” she said. “Someone out there who’s not being paid by Fisk who will tell us just which bank is moving Fisk’s illegal funds. In order to buy a hotel like that without anyone noticing, he must have picked up a new revenue stream while he was in prison. Now that Owlsley’s dead, and Silver & Brent has been dissolved. If we can find it.”  

“Yes, it makes perfect sense,” Matt mused, “Fisk hires his lawyers to buy the Presidential Hotel from Rostam Kazemi, using money he’s made in prison. A few months later, Fisk hears that Kazemi wants to buy the hotel back, so he orders Kazemi be attacked to prevent the sale from happening.”

Karen crossed her legs. “Aren’t the prisons supposed be recording all outgoing calls and visits?”

Matt bit his tongue. “Yes they are,” he said slowly, “but people find ways to circumvent that all the time. People like Fisk, they deliberately speak in the vaguest terms possible so that it’s impossible for the police to determine what’s being discussed. And even if they can determine it, you have to convince a jury that a vague statement like ‘The plumber has fixed the leak’ actually means ‘The snitch has been killed.’”

“Jesus,” Karen moaned.

“Fisk also owns the prison,” he added, “So even if there were calls, he probably had them erased so no one can access them.”

“Where do we even start with that?” Karen asked. “Find Kazemi’s attackers, and get our hands on some kind of evidence that Fisk paid these guys?”

Matt shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Even if they could find a way into Fisk’s bank accounts, it wouldn’t hold up in court. Then it hit him: if Fisk owned the hotel, and he manipulated the FBI into moving him there, what was to say that the shanking wasn’t also part of his plan?

“I...I think I might know where we could start.”

“Who?” Karen asked.

“We need to find the inmate who shanked Fisk.”

Karen paused. What Matt appeared to be suggesting made a little too much sense. If Fisk owned the hotel that the FBI had moved him into after being shanked, then that meant there were several other parties that had to work together to make that happen. Someone in the FBI to arrange the transfer, and something to ensure that on paper, the FBI would have a legitimate reason for moving him. That was a lot of chess pieces to move, and Fisk was the only person with the power and influence to pull it off that she could think of. “Are you saying…Fisk _shanked himself_?” she asked.

“It’s a brilliant move,” Matt explained, “Fisk convinces the FBI that he is in danger of being killed for snitching. Then agents on his payroll arrange for him to be relocated to the Presidential for protection.”

“Yeah, I bet a couple of peoples’ bank accounts are pretty heavy right now,” Karen said.  _Maybe Olsky knows something about that._ Something about that theory didn’t click: if Fisk had indeed arranged his own shanking, who was behind the attack on the motorcade? She knew Fisk had arranged a similar attack when he attempted to escape custody earlier, in which cops and FBI agents were killed by hired gunmen.  “Do you think he also is behind the ambush on the motorcade? To further solidify his story?”

Matt shook his head. “I thought that theory was plausible, but no. Other stories on the attack said the gunmen had think Albanian accents. The Albanians were behind the attack on the outside, like Hattley told us.”

“Well, how do we find this inmate Fisk paid?”

Matt shifted uneasily. “He could still be in prison, biding his time, assuming Fisk hasn’t had him killed already.”

“If that’s the case, we need to move fast,” Karen pointed out.

“I’m considering paying a visit to the prison tomorrow morning to see what I can find,” he said, pushing a file aside. “Even though Fisk still has guards and inmates there in his pocket, I’m betting it’ll take a while for them to get rid of the inmate who did the shanking.”

While Matt sounded outwardly confident in that theory, internally, he felt it was a terrible idea to go back to the prison. Fisk owned the guards and inmates, so they probably had orders to call Fisk if Matt ever showed his face there. But at the same time, Matt Murdock was the only person who’d be able to get into Rikers. Daredevil couldn’t. So he figured that he’d need another angle to bring in Fisk: piecing together his ascent to power. He knew Ben had been writing about organized crime in Hell’s Kitchen for years, and even if Fisk didn’t have his name publicly on a lot of things, newspaper articles about other crime figures might give hints to what he’d been doing behind the scenes. He decided to ask Karen as much, “Did you by any chance look into stuff Ben was writing about the gangs Fisk did business with?”

Karen smiled. “As a matter of fact, I did,” she replied, digging through her bag, “He had a lot on the organizations that Fisk was doing business with. And I mean, a _lot._ ”

She laid out one folder that  was stuffed with photographs, clippings, and documents from Ben’s early investigations into the mafia.

“What is it?” Matt asked, like a kid impatient to get his hands on this new toy.

“This is research Ben did for articles he wrote about the Italian mob from the 1980s up through 2014,” Karen said, flipping through them, “Police files, notes, interview transcripts.” She selected a couple of his notes and read them out loud.

“ _October 12, 1990.  Morning coffee with Silvermane for intelligence gathering. Silvermane provided information that suggests the Rigolettos are currently recruiting new members. Source says the Rigolettos are actively in negotiations with Julius Carbone in Italian Harlem and Frank Costa in Brooklyn to form several ventures that all three families will co-operate.”_

“Rigoletto…” Matt vaguely was acquainted with that name. He didn’t know much about him other than that he was a mob boss who controlled the rackets in Hell’s Kitchen for the better part of the 1970s and 1980s.

“You know him?” Karen asked.

“Don Rigoletto? He controlled the rackets in Hell’s Kitchen for ages,” Matt said. “I believe he was locked up around the same time I was blinded.”

“That’s in his notes too,” Karen continued. “I looked through Ben’s later research and he had a lot of information on the other families: the Carbones, the Costas, the Gnuccis, the Geracis.” Those names didn’t ring bells with Matt. “The majority of them all drew lengthy sentences on RICO charges after the FBI came in and shut them all down in the mid-1990s.”

Karen flipped to another folder containing more documents from Ben’s research. This one contained several NYPD files. “Many of these guys got out during the time period around 2010 to 2015.” She flipped through them. “What’s even stranger is that no sooner did these old players get out that three of them died under very unusual circumstances.”

“Died?” Matt furrowed his brow.

“Yeah. Julius Carbone, fell in front of a subway train in October of 2012. Frank Costa was shot and killed in his car on a quiet Brooklyn street in January 2013. Carmine Rigoletto, reported missing in May of 2014, presumed vivisected.”

“And you think that Fisk killed all of them?” Matt asked.

“Almost certainly Rigoletto,” Karen replied, “His name comes up in Ben’s notes a lot in the weeks prior to his death. Also, Ben mentioned to me, right before he died, that he was waiting for a source to get back with some information about Rigoletto and Fisk.”

“What happened to Rigoletto?” Matt asked.

Karen flipped to another page. “An informant of Ben’s, Silvermane, real name Silvio Manfredi, he claimed that Rigoletto had been chopped to pieces with a chainsaw.”

“Just like Fisk’s father,” Matt said.

“So I cross-referenced Silvio’s information with the NYPD databases, looking for severed bodies, and I found one.” Karen took a deep breath and opened another NYPD file.

“Eww.” She scoffed. “It’s disgusting.”

“That’s not helping,” Matt said. He seemed relieved that he was unable to see whatever it was Karen had found, but he’d still need a description of the photo to work off of.

“It’s pictures of human appendages,” she replied. “Two feet. And a hand. And a torso.”

“A dismembered body?” Matt was starting to look a little queasy himself.

“In a bunch of plastic bags, bundled together and recovered from the Hudson.”

“Was there an ID on the victim?”

She quickly turned over the photographs and flipped through the police file to the autopsy report.

“Nope, nothing at the medical examiner’s office,” Karen said, “It was done by Gregory Tepper, our late medical examiner from the Castle trial, which is no small comfort.” _Hard to say if he didn’t taint this autopsy like he did Frank’s family._

“When was this?” Matt asked.

“June 2014. Let’s see…” Karen scanned the report. “Tepper was able to identify him as a Caucasian male in his late 60s. It was impossible to determine the cause of death. Good thing is, the dismembering happened post-mortem, which is nice.”

“Did the police have a theory as to who the body parts belonged to?”

Karen looked up at Matt. Then she turned and flipped through the file to another page. “Oscar Clemons was the detective assigned to the case. Based on his anonymous informants, he theorized the body parts were those of Rigoletto. But he was unable to find any suspects.”

“Of course it’s unsolved,” Matt said, “Fisk was paying off the cops. And Clemons is dead.”

“This dismembering does seem reminiscent of what Fisk did to his father,” Karen mused, reorganizing the papers and closing the police file.

 “I’m pretty sure Fisk isn’t the first person who’s used the Hudson as a place to dispose of bodies,” Matt said. He had to think like a lawyer here, and guess what Fisk’s defense would use to discredit them.

“What’s Rigoletto’s connection to Fisk?”

Karen scanned through the files pertaining to Ben’s conversations with Silvio. “From what Ben found, Fisk’s father ran for City Council and borrowed funds from Rigoletto. But alas, he lost the race, and not too long after that, little Wilson Fisk killed him.”

Matt scratched his head. “Didn’t Fisk purge almost all records of his father’s existence?” _Was there anything he missed beyond that marriage license for Marlene Vistain?_

Karen remembered that Ben had managed to find a photograph of Fisk’s childhood home. She’d saved it on her phone for future reference, putting it behind a fingerprint lock so that only she could access it. “He never had his father declared dead. There wasn’t even a missing persons report.”

“Right,” Matt said. “His mother helped cover it up.” He scowled, knowing that Marlene Vistain wouldn’t be available to testify to that effect, as she’d died in Italy a little over two years ago, not long after her son had been sent to prison.

“Ben found an old photo from 1972,” Karen said, pinching her fingers on the screen to zoom in on the photo. “It’s of the building where Fisk grew up as a child. One of his father’s election posters can be viewed in the second floor window, though you have to zoom in to catch it. I’m still trying to figure out why Fisk would have Rigoletto killed.”

“For the power?” Matt suggested. “If Fisk was using Rigoletto’s syndicate to construct his own, I could see him having a problem with a rebellious underling.”

“Or maybe some east Asian multi-centurians,” Karen said, “Or even the Irish.”

Matt sighed. “Right. We can’t forget the Hand did a lot of business with Fisk. How long was he even working with them?”

Karen snapped her fingers. “Ben had stuff on them as well,” she said, grabbing her bag and pulling out another folder which contained Ben’s research on the other gangs that operated in Hell’s Kitchen. “From what I can tell, the Triads and Yakuza first showed up in Hell’s Kitchen about ten years ago. It didn’t go over well with those who already called the Kitchen their home, like the Russians, the Irish, and the Dogs of Hell. Lots of warfare between the various groups until 2009, when the clashes died down. There’s a surprising lack of bust-ups of big-name players after 2009. The Irish got it hard. They used to control almost half of Hell’s Kitchen before this war; after it, they were relegated to a few blocks below 34th.”

“I imagine they took that eviction very well,” Matt quipped.

“If by ‘very well’, you mean a massacre,” she quipped. She paged through another police file while Matt sat intently. “It ended with a particularly gruesome bloodbath at a warehouse by the docks in the summer of 2009. Some men, believed to be Triads, kidnapped a bunch of Kitchen Irish, and ripped them to shreds with carbines in their own macabre take on the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Security cameras caught footage of them arriving and leaving in a pair of cabs. However, they weren’t _seen_ shooting the Irish, and they had masks on, to hide their faces.”

“Any leads?”

Karen skimmed over the information. “One of the cabs was later found torched near 44th and 11th. The police tracked the car back to Veles Taxi, Anatoly and Vladimir’s company. That’s as far as they were able to get.”

“Not enough to link it back to Fisk or to the Hand,” Matt said, slowly. “It’s a tenuous connection at best.”

“Yes, that was the last big skirmish,” Karen explained, “After that, the Irish folded, the Dogs of Hell retreated, and all that was left were Fisk, the Russians, and the Hand, and that's how things were until well, we came along.”

They spent the next half hour or so pooling their information, Karen outlining other interesting details she’d gleaned from her research and Ben’s information. Matt listened, intrigued, as she outlined a bunch of other gang-related murders and crimes that she suspected Fisk and/or his allies had participated in, and ran each of Karen’s documents through his Braille reader. Matt, for his part, summarized what he’d learned over the course of his initial pursuits against Fisk’s partners, filling in any details that Ben's (and thus Karen's) research had missed.

“You are brilliant at this, Karen,” Matt said, “I think we should’ve given you a raise than let Ellison poach you.”

Karen gave him a sad smile. “Sadly, unless we can find a secret lieutenant or two who is still on the streets, all we got against Fisk is bupkis.”

“I’m sure that day will come very soon,” he replied.

“Exactly,” she said, grinding her teeth. “Fisk was so damn good at covering his tracks. Hell, we couldn’t even find anything on him online before he went public. He’s probably had time in prison to improve on that.”

“Doesn't help that he made sure it would be difficult to link anything to him. He had several layers of security built into his network to distance himself from what was happening on the streets.”

As Matt said that, he got up and grabbed a thick folder from his desk, containing braille and print copies of transcripts from all of Fisk's court hearings, which he brought over to the couch.

"What's this?" Karen asked.

"I spent the better part of the last hour or so looking over the official transcripts from his trial,” Matt said, nonchalantly. This had been what took up the better portion of Matt’s time between getting home from Josie’s and when Karen had returned. He had pored over everything to see which charges against Fisk had been the easiest or most difficult for the prosecution to make stick. Matt doubted anything would come out of looking at the trial, but it never hurt to see if there was something damning that may have slipped through the cracks.

Matt was disappointed to find that there were no faults with the prosecution’s case in _The United States District Court for the Southern District of New York v. Wilson Fisk_. Which was an astonishing feat in and of itself, considering how much of it was built on witness testimony and circumstantial evidence that had been acquired through legally dubious means. The documents that Marci had smuggled out Landman  & Zack were considered the strongest piece of evidence to link Fisk to illegal business deals and real estate scams. What had been hardest for the prosecution was getting witnesses who could implicate Fisk in crimes, given the many layers in his syndicate’s hierarchy, and the fact that many of those who took direct orders from Fisk were dead, such as Leland Owlsley, James Wesley, the Ranskahov brothers, and more. James Wesley’s death in particular had been the biggest hurdle for the prosecution to get past. As Fisk’s mouthpiece, he was the one that the majority of Fisk’s underlings got their orders from.

It was a miracle that the prosecution had been able to produce three witnesses who could testify that Fisk had directly given them orders that hadn’t come through Wesley.  Parrish Landman had testified to having personal meetings with Fisk during the tenement case, provided a laundry list of companies that Fisk was laundering his money through; Landman could link Fisk to the Union Allied scandal and coverup. Senator Cherryh had admitted to receiving bribes from Fisk. But none were more damning than former detective Carl Hoffman, who admitted to several murders he, Christian Blake, and numerous other cops had carried out on orders from Fisk, implicated Fisk in the bombings of the Russians, the sniper attack that had wounded Blake and killed two uniformed cops, the murder of Officer Sullivan, and testified that Fisk himself personally ordered him to kill Blake when Blake survived the shooting. His testimony was able to prove Fisk guilty of bribery and corruption, backed up by testimony from other corrupt cops who'd cut deals. Sadly, the prosecution were unable to link Fisk to the cops who were murdered, as Hoffman couldn't produce any evidence to corroborate his story about Blake's murder, on account of no documents being kept and the third party in the conversation-Wesley-being dead.

“The biggest flaw I could find,” he said, “was that almost all of these witnesses claimed that they never actually met Fisk face to face. They always got their orders from James Wesley.”

 _Meaning that a lot of witnesses had testimony that couldn’t be corroborated,_ Karen thought bitterly, _because I killed him._

“Wesley was also careful to never use Fisk’s name in conversation,” he added, noticing Karen’s increasing discomfort at the mention of Wesley’s name, “Remember how he dodged the question when I tried to ask him for his name and who he spoke for when he came by the office?” _"It's the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock."_

Karen bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, I…I remember that.” She couldn’t help but hear Wesley’s voice in her head, the things he’d said that morning when he hired them. _“I’m curious about your…clientele. Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder, or just the pretty ones?”_

“Karen?” Matt asked.

Karen looked back at him. “Sorry, uh, you were saying/”

“He always referred to Fisk as his employer,” Matt continued. “In fact, Fisk had this code in effect. No one is supposed to say his name. And anyone who does, he’ll kill them…and everyone they care about as a message to anyone else. Makes it harder for crimes to be linked to him.” He felt his jaw tighten, remembering the two specific incidents that told him how powerful and feared Fisk was.

“Where did you learn that?” she asked, quietly. “From the witness testimony, or was it something you saw as…as Daredevil?”

“From Healy,” he replied. “I caught up with him after Fisk hung the jury. He was the first to tell me that Fisk was the man behind the curtain.”

“A good public service that was…” Karen couldn’t feel bad for Healy. He’d deserved it, as would any man who beat someone to death with a bowling ball and showed no remorse for it.

“The instant he told me what I needed to know, he…” He started over. “It’s like a switch flipped and he went from being scared of me to being scared of Fisk…” It was nerve-wracking how quickly Healy’s demeanor had changed. When Matt and Foggy had spoken to Healy in the precinct, he displayed all the signs of a sociopath. No regrets for what he’d done to Prohaszka, enough to give Foggy the heebie-jeebies. So to see him suddenly freaking out like he did in that alleyway, that was the stuff that gave Matt nightmares. Moreso by what Healy had done next.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, realizing that whatever happened next, was something that Matt was incredibly troubled by.

“He told me I should’ve just killed him, called me a coward. He _impaled his own head through a nearby fence spike,_ Karen, like it was nothing. Didn’t even hesitate.”

Karen gasped. “Holy shit…”

“And, I was there when Detectives Blake and Hoffman killed that Russian at the precinct. A few hours prior to the bombings.”

“How could I forget,” Karen said. Karen remembered that incident very well. Matt had gone to the precinct to get information from Brett about Armund Tully. He subsequently had been tied up for at least three hours while everyone there was questioned about what happened. Matt, for his part, claimed he just heard the gunshot and nothing else. He couldn't tell the truth to the officer that took his statement, both because he knew no one would believe a blind man could witness things through walls, and because he suspected there were more cops in the precinct that were crooked beyond just Blake and Hoffman and he'd needed to catch Blake off guard.

“I was…” Matt swallowed as he remembered… “I was…at the front desk waiting for Brett to get me copies of those complaints against Tully. The moment Piotr said he’d give up Fisk in exchange for a plea deal, Blake punched Hoffman. Hoffman started yelling that Piotr was going for his gun. Blake took out his own gun and just shot him in the head.”

 _In the middle of a precinct._ “Holy shit…” Karen squeezed his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She was lucky that her experience with Blake and Hoffman at least ended with her walking out alive. “I knew they were assholes--Blake especially--before you swooped in to rescue me, but still…”

“They were also good friends for 35 years,” Matt said, “When Hoffman poisoned Blake, he was crying as he stuck the poison into Blake’s IV line. Fisk had to threaten him to get him to cooperate.”

Karen felt a shiver run through her body. “Like that guard who tried to kill me?”

“He said so himself when we deposed him." Matt grabbed a pair of bounded braille pages containing transcripts of Hoffman’s deposition testimony. “As Hoffman testified, Fisk and Wesley summoned him to a warehouse at Pier 41, and Fisk ordered him to kill Blake, making clear that if Hoffman didn't do as they told him, he himself would die and so would Blake."

"And yet he wasn't convicted for any of the cop killings," Karen said bitterly.

"Kinda hard for a jury to do that when Donovan is pointing out that the only evidence that Fisk directly ordered Hoffman to kill Blake was Hoffman himself," Matt replied with a shrug. "He said that no one was wearing wires and no notes were ever made about the conversation. Like the meeting never existed. And the only people privy to the conversation were Hoffman himself, Fisk, and Wesley."

"So it was a matter of Fisk's word vs. Hoffman's, since Wesley is conveniently dead..."  _by my hand._ She abruptly stopped midsentence, a pang of guilt in her chest.

Matt could smell the uncontrolled anxiety wafting from Karen’s skin. “…Karen, are you okay?” he asked.

Karen saw the concerned look on his face. Concern for someone that he loved deeply.  She bit her lip, knowing that she’d have to say it. Better to tell him now, before their investigation of Fisk progressed too far, rather than have him find out in the midst of chasing down leads and possibly drive them apart.

“Karen?” he asked when she didn’t respond. 

Karen took a deep breath. “Matt, there’s…there’s something I probably should tell you,” she finally said. “I’ve done something terrible. Something I haven’t told anybody about.” She exhaled, taking another breath. “Nobody knows this. Not you, not Foggy. _Nobody_.”

Matt laced his fingers through one of her hands and squeezed it gently, trying to get her to calm down.

“What is it? Does it have to do with Wesley?” he asked. Karen jolted again. Her heart was still beating rapidly . “It is, isn’t it? Every time his name is mentioned, you flinch and I hear your breathing change ever so slightly.”

Karen took another deep breath, trying to steel herself. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded unnaturally ragged. “I—” she didn’t know what to say. Matt had been so kind to her, viewed her as this guardian angel who needed protection. He cared about her, enough that he’d immediately come to her for assistance as soon as he learned Fisk was out of prison. But he deserved better than a killer like her. She looked into his eyes, his concern ever more apparent.

_“You deserve better, Karen.”_

_“So do you.”_

The words came pouring out of her. “I killed him, Matt,” she whispered, “ _I_ killed James Wesley. He—he kidnapped me an-and t-threatened you s-so I—I—I shot him!”  

In an instant, Matt felt all the blood drain out of his face. Of all the possible secrets that he thought Karen could be keeping, that she’d killed James Wesley was very low on his list. _That’s not possible_ , he thought. This was Karen. Karen who brought him a monkey balloon to his apartment when he was injured. Karen who took care of and moved into his apartment while he was presumed dead. Karen who walked him home and kissed him in the rain.

But he’d also known for the longest time that Karen had secrets of her own. He knew that she had lied about not having a copy of the Union Allied pension file, and that she had used false pretenses to get Ben to go with her to the nursing home where Fisk kept his mother. He knew about how she'd slipped out of police protection to go meet up with Frank Castle at a diner. And there was the fact that she owned a gun, and more importantly, she knew how to use one.

As Matt sat there, trying to process Karen’s declaration, a small voice in the back of his head told him that something else lined up: the night that Wesley was killed was the same night that he’d found Karen in the office acting all paranoid. But since his death had never been reported in the papers, he’d had no way of even considering the possibility that there was a correlation between the two events. In fact, his suspicions for the longest time were that Wesley had been killed on the orders from one of Fisk’s enemies. The list of suspects had been endless, given that at that point in time, Fisk’s empire was in a state of disarray. Between Hoffman having been hidden away by Owlsley after killing Detective Blake, Nelson & Murdock investigating, and Fisk's alliances with the Russians and the Hand being destabilized by Matt’s constant attacks, there were a lot of people who had reasons to want Wesley dead.

Owlsley had in fact been Matt’s primary suspect. The financial records Marci had pulled, the ones that had led them to Hoffman, they showed that Owlsley had been skimming from Fisk in the days prior to his death. If Wesley had found out about Owlsley’s duplicity, it wouldn’t be too unreasonable to assume that Owlsley killed him to prevent him from reporting back to Fisk about it or about his new bargaining chip. It would have also explained why Fisk had thrown Owlsley down an elevator shaft. The only other likely suspect Matt had for Wesley’s and Owlsley’s death would’ve been Fisk himself, cleaning house as he sensed his impending arrest. But Matt ruled that out pretty quickly, as he’d heard that Fisk had beaten one of his bodyguards half-to-death after finding Wesley’s body, a reaction he wouldn’t have had if he’d been the one to order the shooting.

Alas, no. It had been Karen who killed Wesley, after he had allegedly kidnapped her. He had a pretty good idea as to why she might have done such a thing. He must have threatened her, same as happened to Hoffman, with Farnum, with Melvin... But then there was the _why._ Why had Wesley gone after her?

Matt’s brain started working harder, trying to figure out what exactly Karen could have done that had caused Wesley to take interest in her. Frankly, Matt was surprised that Wesley would even still remember Karen, as the most he’d ever interacted with her would have been when he had visited Nelson & Murdock and hired them to defend Healy. _But_ , Matt thought, Wesley had to have been the one who gave the orders for both attempts on her life. His snide remark upon recognizing Karen at the office was proof of that. 

As Matt sat there, he also realized, the two thugs that had tried to attack Karen outside Elena’s building during the tenement case, they probably had gotten their orders from Wesley, not from Fisk.  If they’d reported back to Wesley about their failure, he might’ve seen it essential to kidnap Karen so he could intimidate her in backing down. Just as quickly, he shot that theory down because the timing just didn’t make any sense at all: if it was about the tenement case, why would he threaten Karen _after_ Elena had been killed, when Elena's death alone would've sufficed as a message? And why didn’t he also pay a visit to Foggy, who was also pretty invested in the case?

“He kidnapped you?” Matt asked, his voice coming back to him. “Did…did he want something from you?”

Karen nodded, her free hand balling into a fist. “He said he was going to kill you,” she answered, her voice shaking, “You, and Foggy and my family. He said I would die knowing I got you all killed.”

Matt shuddered. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Fisk’s way of controlling people was to typically use their loved ones as leverage. Healy’s last words before killing himself had been proof of that.

“He thought he’d scare me,” Karen babbled. “Wesley, he thought—he thought he could scare me, and I was so, so frightened, Matt. I…” She began breathing harder, almost to the verge of hyperventilating. “So I killed him.”

Karen watched Matt’s face, looking to see a reaction from him. It was hard to read what he was thinking, beyond the fact that he clearly was as upset and distraught about the whole situation as she was.

Which Matt was. Karen had been kidnapped, and in danger, and he hadn’t known about it. But still, he had to know. “What happened?” he asked. “I think you should walk me through it from the beginning.”

Karen looked down at her hands. “Can I—I have something to drink, please? I think I might need something strong.”

“Sure,” he said, letting go of her hand and standing up. Karen watched Matt as he went into the kitchen and grabbed a drinking glass. She stared intently at him as he poured it with water and brought it back over to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the glass with both hands.

She took a giant sip of water, practically downing a third of the glass’s contents. As she set the glass back down on the table, Matt picked up their conversation where it had left off. “What did Wesley want with you?” he asked.

Karen took a deep breath, and allowed Matt to take one of her hands and squeeze it, gently, for support. He could tell she desperately needed it. She sat there for a moment, gathering her thoughts as she recalled what Wesley had said to her in the warehouse. She remembered everything down to the last word. It was actually kinda scary that she remembered it like it was only yesterday.

“ _Frankly, I was surprised she remembered you. Recent memories for her are fleeting gossamer often plucked from grasp by the slightest breeze. But you, you left an impression. The nice blonde lady with the big blue eyes. And the man you were with, Mr. Urich, I'm guessing?”_

She cleared her throat. “It started when Ben and I went to see Fisk’s mother at the nursing home,” she began, "As fate has it, she apparently remembered Ben and me.” She felt a lump of bile forming in her throat, which she quickly suppressed. Matt could hear it in her voice. It pained her to think about Ben, and his death. She’d refused to accept that it wasn’t her fault he’d died, no matter how much Matt and Foggy had tried to convince her that wasn’t the case. “She uh…” she took another sip of water. “…she told Wesley about our visit.”

“Just Wesley,” Matt said, confused. Marlene Vistain bothered to tell Wesley about the visitors she’d received, but she couldn’t be bothered to tell her own son about them? The son who she had helped to cover up her husband’s murder? Why? “Did Fisk know you were there?”

 _“He's preoccupied with more important matters, so I've taken it upon myself to address the situation.”_ Karen shook her head, shuddering again. It was like Wesley was right there in the room with her and Matt. “I just shook my head,” she said, plainly.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “I know,” he murmured. “But Fisk didn’t know you were at the nursing home, did he? Because he knew that Ben was there. And the fact you're still alive means he doesn't know about you.”

“When I asked Wesley, he said that Fisk hadn’t yet been alerted because he was busy attending to other matters,” Karen said, “I think…” She remembered something Ben had said to her earlier that day, about how several people had been killed at Fisk’s Van Lunt benefit. “…Ben told me that a bunch of people were poisoned at that charity gala where Fisk was raising money for his ‘better tomorrow’. Did you know about that?”

“Yeah, I did,” Matt nodded, “Someone spiked a bunch of drinks. A couple of people died.”

“Fisk used his pull in the press to bury it, make it seem like a case of food poisoning.” Karen rolled her eyes. “It sounds better that way, rather than admit there was an attempt on his life-”

“Vanessa was among the victims,” Matt interrupted.

Karen paused. “How did you know that?”

“Claire mentioned it to me,” he answered, sheepishly. “And a talkative ex-bodyguard of his.” Come to think of it, that would explain why Fisk hadn’t known about Karen and Ben visiting his mother at the time: he too busy worrying about Vanessa’s wellbeing and must have delegated Wesley to handle business matters. “It makes a lot of sense, actually. She’s important to him. Important enough that he’d let his business affairs suffer if anything happened to her.”

“Yeah, and important enough that he’ll sell out the Albanians to get charges against her dismissed,” Karen muttered.

“Anyways,” Matt said, steering the conversation back to Wesley, “You said that Wesley found out about your visit to Marlene, and he kidnapped you. When?”

Karen took another sip of water. “The night after the gala. Which would've been about...two days after Fisk and Nobu beat the shit out of you. When Foggy had found out about you, and neither of you wanted to tell me what had happened.” She exhaled. “That time you came by the office in the middle of the night because you couldn't sleep and found me there.”

“I remember,” he sighed. He remembered sensing that something was very wrong with her. She reeked of alcohol, like she had just been drinking heavily, her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. She jumped at any sudden noises, and she had closed all the window blinds in the office like she was afraid that someone would see her. And when he asked her if something had happened, she only said _“Yeah, the world fell apart. Didn’t you notice?”_ Now he realized, in hindsight, what had happened to her…  

“When I asked you if something was wrong, you said, ‘the world fell apart. Didn’t you notice?’” He paused. “I thought you were just stressed out from everything that had been going on. Between Fisk, Elena, the bombings. Me and Foggy fighting.”

“That was just part of it, yes,” Karen conceded, “But not all of it.”

Matt bit his lip and squeezed her hand again. “What happened that night?”

Karen exhaled, the events of that night playing back like a little video in her head. “I went to Josie’s,” she said, “Where I found Foggy passed out drunk at the bar. I guess he really hadn’t taken learning the truth about you that well.”

“Did you ask him about what had happened between us?” Matt asked.

“I did,” she answered, “He wouldn’t talk. I tried to tell him what I’d learned, about Fisk killing his father, but he didn’t listen. Nor did he listen when I told him that they’d started demolishing Elena’s tenement to make way for Midland Circle.”

“I know,” Matt said, solemnly, still hurt even three years later by all the pain he’d caused Foggy.

“So I left him there,” Karen continued, “And I walked home to my apartment. I made a phone call to Ben along the way, apologizing for misleading him.” She shivered, a memory of fear building up in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Wesley was waiting for me outside my building. I was just about to unlock my door when he suddenly grabbed me from behind and put a handkerchief over my face and…”

Matt felt his jaw tighten. Not only had Wesley kidnapped her, he’d drugged her in doing so. “Where did he take you?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “He put me in this black Escalade, like the ones Fisk normally gets driven around in, and he took me to this warehouse on the Hudson,” she answered. “When I woke up, I was sitting in a chair, at this little table. And there was Wesley, standing over me. He sat down across from me and…we had a conversation.”

“What did he say?”

Karen paused, taking a moment to remember the remarks Wesley had made when she first regained consciousness, about how he’d underestimated her.

_“You know, funny story, after the Union Allied article, I inquired as to whether you needed further attention. The feeling was, you'd already done whatever damage you could, so it wasn't necessary. You were a nobody, a very small cog in the machine. So, an offer was made through a third party. A legal agreement, one you signed in exchange for a reasonable amount of money. Well, reasonable to you.” He paused. “You were supposed to go away, Miss Page. Fade back into wherever people like you fade. But you made a choice and that choice has brought you here on this night, at this particular moment in time. Perhaps that's the way it was always gonna be. Perhaps we're destined to follow a path none of us can see, only vaguely sense, as it takes our hand, guiding us towards the inevitable.”_

“He admitted to me that he was behind the Union Allied payoff, which he said was supposed to make me go away,” she said. She laughed bitterly. “Clearly that didn’t work out.”

“I guess he was disappointed in you,” Matt suggested.

“Yeah,” she said, shakily, “And then he…he put a gun down on the table in front me. Y’know, t-t-to scare me. Seeing Matt’s expression, she  added, “He  rambled on a bit, asking me whether or not I love this city. Eventually, he told me that he’d found out about me and Ben having gone to see Fisk’s mother.”

“Did he say Fisk was going to kill you?” Matt asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

Karen shook her head. “Not right away. No, he said he wanted to offer me a job.”

Matt paused. “A job?”

Karen looked away from Matt as she recalled…

_“The position I have in mind is a little more involved,” Wesley said, “You've proven yourself resourceful, tenacious, with a commendable ability to convince others that your way is the right one, the way that needs to be followed, pursued despite the obvious repercussions such actions may incur._

_Karen laughed bitterly. “Is that even English?”_

_Wesley laughed. “Simply stated, you're going to convince Mr. Urich that everything is fine, that you were wrong. That Wilson Fisk is a good man, a man this city needs. And then you're going to spread the gospel to everyone you've infected with your negative point of view.”_  
  
“He wanted me to lie,” she said, closing her eyes, “He wanted me to convince you…you, Foggy, and Ben, and anybody else who was opposing Fisk, to lie, and say that Fisk was a good guy.”

“Obviously you didn’t,” Matt said. _This is where he threatened you, right? You said he threatened to kill us?_

Karen shuddered, reliving Wesley’s subsequent death threats. That creepily calm and monotonous voice that he delivered them in.

_"I'd rather die first!" she said._

_“But, you won't be the first to die, Miss Page, no...” Wesley pursed his lips. “No, I think Mr. Urich will have that honor, then we'll go to your place of employment to see to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock; after that your friends, family, everyone you ever cared about, and when you have no tears left to shed, then ... then we'll come for you, Miss Page."_  

“And he said,” she said, her voice becoming shaky again. “...he said that if I didn’t convince you all that Fisk was a good man, he was going to kill my friends, my family, and everyone else I’ve ever cared about, saving me for last! I barely heard half of what he was saying. ‘Cause at that point, I just…I was seeing red!”

Matt paused. “What?”

“I wanted…” She trailed off. She ran her free hand through her hair. “I wanted him dead.”

She began trembling uncontrollably, those critical few seconds flashing before her eyes.

“And then his phone rang,” the words began flowing out of her mouth, “He took his eyes off me to pick it up, and I thought that it was Fisk calling to check in with him.  I don’t know if I was thinking or not, but I j-just lunged forward and grabbed the gun, and pointed it at him. He didn’t even flinch…”

_"Come on.  Do you **really** think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?”_

_"I don't know. Do you really think this is the first time I've shot someone?"_

“And he tried to bluff me…” she swallowed a lump of bile forming in her throat. “…he tried to convince me it wasn’t loaded, that he’d be an idiot to leave a loaded gun within reach of me. But I knew it was. ‘Cause he wasn’t the first person I’d ever shot. And then I just pulled the trigger.” She scoffed. “Over and over until there were no bullets left to use. I killed him, Matt.”

“You were scared,” he said, trying his best to sound reassuring and failing. “He kidnapped you, he drugged you, and he threatened you. You were acting in self-defense.”

“Seven times,” she whispered, so quietly that he probably would not have heard it if he didn’t have his enhanced hearing.

“What?” he asked, quietly.

“I shot him seven times, Matt,” she whimpered, “Because I wanted him dead.”

Matt’s brain began thinking. Shooting him one time, that could easily be argued away as self-defense. Everything beyond that was pushing the envelope, as far as the State of New York would be concerned. But given who had been shot, who he worked for, and how much Fisk had corrupted the legal system, that muddied the waters. And given what she'd known at the time, Karen had every reason to believe Wesley's threats were not idle.

"You don't think I'm a bad person, am I?" she asked, sounding on the verge of tears.

"No, I don't," he said, fighting tears himself, "I don't."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because Karen, you went through something terrible. And I didn't know."

Karen sniffled. "When I got the gun, I could’ve called the cops, I could’ve run.”

“You were afraid for your life,” Matt replied, “It was self-defense of a third party. And you couldn’t have gone to the cops.  If you turned yourself in, you would never have gotten out of the precinct alive. What Blake and Hoffman did to that Russian in the precinct? That's what would've happened to you. That or they'd have hanged you in your cell.”

“I know that, Matt,” Karen pleaded, “But I wanted Wesley dead! And I enjoyed it! I felt he deserved more. If he had more ammo on him, I’d have done so.”

“You did what you had to do, Karen,” Matt pulled her against him and wrapped his arm around her waist, tracing circles over her back.  “Karen, Karen. Look at me. You killed him, but legally, it was him or you. You’re not evil, Karen. You are _good_. You are a good person, and you are a strong person, what I always imagined you were. And you saved us, killing him.”

Karen looked up at him, touched by his words.

“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking away the tears. _I don't deserve to be called good._

Matt bit his lip, trying to decide what to ask next. Karen had killed Wesley, yes. But had she left any evidence that could link her to the scene? “What happened next?” he asked, quietly.

“I didn’t know if the cops would come, so I wiped my prints off the scene.”

“What about the gun? Did you get rid of it?”

“Yes, I threw it in the Hudson as soon as I had the chance,” she answered. “Then I went straight home and threw away the clothes I’d been wearing. And I drank practically every piece of alcohol in my apartment in an attempt to numb myself to sleep.”

“Tried to?” he asked, sounding pained. He wasn’t shocked to learn Karen experienced nightmares. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d observed in the weeks after Wesley’s death that Karen hadn’t been sleeping all that well, although this gradually improved the more that time went by. He’d heard it in her voice and the way she walked.  “Were there nightmares?”

Karen nodded, meekly. “Yes,” she whispered. “You told me you were hearing Fisk’s voice in your head when we were at the hotel. Well, I imagined that Fisk was in my bedroom.  I imagined him talking to me, about the repercussions of taking a life. Feeling the weight and responsibility of a man’s entire life being gone forever, gone because of me. And he told me, that it would get easier the more I did it. Then he had his hands around my throat, and I woke up.” She took a sip of water. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so I went to the office. And that’s where you found me.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry, Karen.” His voice sounded strained. “I had no idea what had happened to you. You know, you could’ve told me.”

Karen wiped some snot off her face with her finger. “Well you uh, you were always…” She wiped a tear off her face with another finger. “…uh, treated me like I was innocent. It was nice. That was nice that you thought of me like that. I didn’t want you to think I was a monster or anything.”

She took a breath. Talking about the repercussions of killing a man, and Wilson Fisk’s right hand man at that, had taken a lot of energy out of her. And she wasn’t done yet. She didn’t want to end this conversation without also disclosing the truth about Kevin, as she’d promised herself that morning before they went to the hotel.

“Plus, when I said you and Foggy were the only good things I still had in my life, I meant it,” she added. “I’ve been very lonely ever since I left Vermont. And I didn’t want to lose you or be judged by you for it. Because honestly, I don’t think there’s any atoning for what I’ve done. The lives I've taken. For Wesley or for…” _For Kevin._ "...my brother."

Matt stiffened up. He remembered, that morning, Karen had told him there were nasty rumors regarding her brother’s death. He felt Karen’s heartrate increase again as she went still in his arms. “You killed your brother?”

Karen took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s why I left Vermont, actually.”

“Did you shoot him?” Matt asked. Karen stared into his face, her eyes widening. Yes, she’d shot someone before, but it hadn’t been Kevin. It had been the guy trying to hurt Kevin.

“No,” she said, “It was someone he tried to pick a fight with.”

Karen took one last sip of water, finishing off the glass. She got up to go refill it, but Matt grabbed her hand.

“Let me do it,” he said, calmly, soothingly, “I don’t want you dropping it.”

“O—okay,” she whispered.

She let Matt refill her water glass. As soon as he sat back down next to her on the couch, she resumed talking.

“I grew up in a small town called Fagan Corners, Vermont,” she said, her lips twitching, “It's about 15 minutes north of Killington. It's small, about 1,600 people. All living in the shadows of a little ski hill.” She stopped to collect her thoughts. “We were a very small family. Just me, my mom, my dad, and my brother Kevin. We lived in this little house right up the hill from a little diner we called our own. Penny’s Place. My mom did most of the heavy lifting, bookkeeping and waiting tables. She taught me everything she knew.”

Matt seemed to be holding his breath, as if reminding her that he existed would make her cease talking.

“When I was 16, she got breast cancer,” she resumed, “And a year later, she just died. She fought the cancer to the bitter end, but ultimately, the cancer won, and me, Dad, and Kevin were left to run the diner all by ourselves.” She took another sip, and placed her hand on her knee. “Mom always wanted me to go to Georgetown, get an education, move to the big city and make something for myself. But with her gone…I couldn’t just leave Dad and Kevin to fend for themselves. Dad, he was…well he loved me and Kevin, but he was a terrible businessman, always buying things that we couldn’t afford. If it weren’t for me, the place would go under in a week.” _Though I seem to have inherited his sense of optimism. I'd maintained that same feeling even in the face of Nelson & Murdock constantly being broke. _

“I’m so sorry, Karen…” Matt said. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

Karen took another long swig of water. “I was eighteen, having to manage the diner all by myself. It was hard from optimal. I just—I just wanted to get away from it all, but I couldn’t let Dad and Kevin go bankrupt. Some of my friends from high school, they were going to local colleges. And they invited me, every once in a while, to frat parties. At one of them, I met this guy. His name was Todd Neiman.”

“Party crashing.” Matt smirked. The similarities in his life and Karen’s life were very uncanny. He’d met Elektra in a similar fashion, during that semester when he and Foggy were crashing Columbia faculty parties.

“Exactly," she continued, “Todd was tall, nice-looking. He lived out of a trailer in a nearby quarry, hitched to his truck. I started going out with him.”

She didn’t  speak for almost a minute. Matt hesitated, and then took his hand off her back, placing it on top of one of her hands, which she’d placed on her lap. She squeezed her eyes shut, organizing her highlights reel of the relationship with Todd, and then resumed.

“Todd never judged me for who I was, or what I wanted to do,” she stated, “Unlike my dad, who seemed to see me as a replacement for my mom as far as managing the diner went.” She paused. “When you told me about your relationship with Elektra at lunch today, how she never judged your abilities, you reminded me a bit of him, actually.”

Matt looked crestfallen.

“Did the relationship end well?” he asked, quietly. Karen didn’t say anything, but he heard the swish of her hair as she turned away from him, staring off at the windows and the neon billboard outside. He took that as a “no”.

“You know how we all get first impressions of people, and then it turns out, they're not who they appear to be?" Karen asked, rhetorically.

"Look who you're talking to."

"Well, it turns out, Todd was a big-time drug dealer,” she said, as if ashamed to say it, “He introduced me to heroin. I knew that…that it was wrong, but I wanted anything that got me away from that stinking diner. And I loved it. I loved  it so much that I just wanted more and more of it. And I…” she felt her hands trembling. “…one thing led to another, and eventually I became his partner-in-crime, helping him sell drugs at parties.” She sighed. "And then one day, it all came to a head."

"What happened?"

She gulped, before continuing. “First off, my dad bought this $5,000 grill for the diner, despite the fact that we couldn’t afford it. On top of that, I’d found out that Kevin had un-deferred my application to Georgetown and insisted that I had to get out of town.”

“Did they know about what you were doing? With Todd?”

“Ohhh yes,” she said, her voice breaking, “It’s a small town, Matt. Word travels fast. Everyone knew who Todd was and what he did. But I couldn’t just leave. I felt that without my presence, the diner would fall apart, and I wouldn’t have any access to heroin.” She felt tears forming in her eyes as she remembered that argument.

_"You...you think that I don't want to go to college?" Karen laughed in disbelief. "I can't go to college! If I leave here, this place will go under in a week!"_

_"We'll be fine," her dad said._

_Karen scoffed, not believing him. "You just bought a grill that will bankrupt us." For some reason, she just suddenly felt angry, all the stress she'd accumulated over the past year just boiling over. "You know what? I'm-I'm sorry, but Mom used to do everything around here, and now I have to!"_

_"Okay guys, stop," Kevin spoke up, trying to break up the argument._

_"No! You have no clue how to run this place. I run the front, I do the books!" she exclaimed._

_"Karen, stop!" Kevin pleaded._

_"This is ridiculous," her dad said._

_"No, Dad, Dad! You are lost in a fog!" Karen insisted, "The diner has been failing for years, and you won't admit it. You just keep clinging to it, 'cause you think Mom's gonna find her way back somehow!"_

_"Well, if she does, you're not gonna be here, so it won't be your problem," Paxton fired back._

_"Yeah, well, Mom hated this place! She hated this whole town, and you never saw it!" she shouted._

_"She loved this place! This was her home!"_

_"No, she loved you!" Karen sputtered, tears welling up, "That is the only reason she stuck around! She felt like she was dying here a long time before she got cancer!"_

_A long, and very dead silence fell over the room. No one in the room had the courage to even use that word when they talked about Mom. They treated the word like one would 'Voldemort'._

_"...You take that back," Paxton said, pointing a finger at her._

_Karen angrily got up and marched across the seating area to the frame in which they kept one of her mom's last mementos: an unscratched lottery ticket she'd bought the week before she died.  
_

_"You ever wonder why Mom kept buying lottery tickets?" she asked._

_"She bought them for something to hope on when she went into remission," Paxton said._

_"Yeah and you know what she was hoping? She was hoping that if she ever got a second chance, she would get us the HELL out of here!" Karen's tears were running, but she didn't care. "Well, Mom never got to find out, so let's see, huh?!"_

_"Put that down!" her dad started to say. Karen abruptly slammed the frame face down on a table, shattering the glass. Her dad and Kevin both jumped, shocked at Karen's sudden burst of violence. She removed the ticket and waved the side with the numbers in the direction of her father and Kevin. Her eyes were red from crying to the point she couldn't see anything.  
_

_"What do you think? Huh?!" she said, her voice increasing in volume and trying to fight back the urge to sob, "One scratch, and we pay off all the bills?! One scratch, and we go our own way?! One last gift from Mom?!"_

_Her dad and brother looked despondent._

_"...Don't," her dad said, clearly out of things to say to talk Karen down._

_"Karen, please don't," Kevin pleaded._

_Karen put the ticket down on the table and began furiously scratching at the surface with her nails. Much to her disappointment, the numbers were not for a winning ticket._

_"Mom lost again," she whispered, "We all lose. Now we know."_

“We had a big fight about it that night at dinner,” she said to Matt, the words pouring out, and the tears flowing, “I yelled some things, horrible things, at Kevin, at my Dad. And then I just rode off with Todd in his truck. I poured my heart out and snorted a couple lines of his product.”

She thought Matt’s hands were shaking ever so slightly.

“Kevin, he felt that he needed to get me and Todd separated from one another, so—so he burned down his trailer. When Todd and I got there, the trailer was completely engulfed in flames, and Kevin was itching to pick a fight with him. They fought, viciously. Todd grabbed a tire iron from his truck and he…” she swallowed convulsively. “…he began beating Kevin with it. And I—I c-couldn’t just stand there and let my brother die. Todd kept a gun in his glovebox. He'd even let me try it out earlier that night.  So I grabbed it and I fired a warning shot into the air. But he wouldn’t stop, so I shot him in the arm. He dropped the iron, and while he was lying there, I grabbed Kevin and I drove off, headed for the hospital.”

“Karen.”

“I was driving like a maniac,” she said. Her eyes were burning. “I— I was high, and I was drunk and I was angry." She zoned out, remembering what she'd said.

_"JESUS CHRIST WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!" she screamed at him. "I WAS GONNA FIX IT, I WAS GONNA FIX IT! YOU RUINED IT! Why?! Why did you do that?!"_

_Kevin cleared his throat, coughing up blood. "Because..." he gasped, heaving for air, "Because I'd already lost Mom."_

_Karen stared at him. In that instant, she realized, Kevin was trying to save her. If she'd stayed with Todd any longer, she would eventually die from an overdose, or worse, end up in prison for dealing.  She was so busy staring at him that she didn't even realize she wasn't even in her lane, and they were coming up on a bridge over a creek. That was, until Kevin suddenly shouted, "WATCH OUT-"_

_Karen looked up, and saw the guardrail. She barely had time to scream when the car suddenly hit the guardrail and was tossed sideways through the air. The last thing she remembered was the car flipping multiple times, before coming to rest on its roof, and then...darkness._

"I was angry at Kevin for trying to interfere, and getting hurt. And I…” she felt her throat close up. “…he insisted he was trying to save me, because he’d lost Mom and he didn’t want to lose me too. I took my eyes off the road to look at him for an instant. Just one instant. Just long enough that I failed to realize I was drifting out of the lane. The next thing I knew, I hit a guard rail, and the car went airborne. We tumbled three, maybe four times, and then landed on our roof.”

“Jesus, Karen…”

“Kevin died instantly,” she said, “He’d broken his neck. And I…” she swallowed. “…I had to stare at his bloody remains for almost an hour. ‘Cause we were—we were on this dark road with very little traffic and it took at least twenty minutes for the safety crews to get there, and another forty for them to free me.”

Matt had no words to say. What Karen had been through sounded terrible.

“I was in such shock over what happened that I barely even remembered the Sheriff trying to take a statement from me,” she said, getting up from the couch to grab a Kleenex from the bedroom. “I do remember him holding Dad back as he tried to get in the ambulance to see Kevin’s body.” She blew her nose as she sat back down next to Matt. “I’ll never forget the cry of anguish he let out, seeing his boy like that.” Nor did she forget how hard she'd cried in response to that, how many tears she'd shed. She remembered that she'd spent the next week being completely inconsolable. Even the smallest memento of Kevin's was enough to reduce her to tears.

Matt put a hand on her shoulder and began massaging it.

“Were you ever charged?” he asked. He winced almost immediately afterwards. That was a stupid question. Karen couldn’t have been charged with her brother’s death, since if she had, it would’ve appeared on her record and she would never have been able to purchase a gun.

“No,” Karen blew her nose. “Bernie Cohen, the Sheriff, he was one of the few regulars we had at the diner. He’d known what happened to Mom. And, given everything else that happened that night, he figured the family had suffered enough. That I had a future ahead of me, which wouldn’t exist if I were sitting in jail for vehicular manslaughter, drug dealing, illegal possession of a firearm, ‘cause, see, I had Todd’s gun in the backseat. He falsified the accident report, omitted all references to my presence. The official story was that Kevin was alone and had been the one driving the car.”

She sniffled.

“Dad disowned me,” she finished, “He didn’t want me around any more, blaming me for everything that had gone wrong. I stayed around long enough for the funeral and then to pack a few bags. Then I took a bus out of town. Enrolled at a community college in Montpelier. Got a job. Bounced around for the next eleven years, until I ended up here in New York.”  

She exhaled. Matt instinctively pulled Karen against him and she buried her face in his shoulder, while wrapping her arms around him. He was touched, that he had come to be the person that Karen, the woman who ran into danger, who managed to stand up to a dangerous bomber on the radio, who had risked her own life obtaining the Union Allied pension file, turned to for comfort when she couldn’t keep up her poker face. But he digressed, maybe Karen was just repaying him in kind. _He_ had done the same thing to her, all those years ago. When he’d fled Madame Gao’s drug lab, after finding out just who made up their labor force, it had shaken him right down to the core. He felt that he’d seen the bottom of the darkest pits of humanity, to learn that not only did Gao use blind laborers to package and distribute her heroin, she _brainwashed_ them into blinding themselves. Between that, his fear of losing Foggy forever, and his anger at Fisk over Elena Cardenas’ death, he felt like he’d hit rock bottom. Like he couldn’t take another step. In a moment of desperation, he’d found his way to the office and poured his heart out to Karen. And Karen had said to him, _“You’re not alone, Matt. You never were.”_   

Karen was not sure how long they remained that way.  But when she finally pulled away from Matt, she felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of her.

“Have you ever spoken to your dad since?” Matt asked, edging on the side of caution.

“I have his number saved in my contacts, but he only ever calls me on my birthday,” Karen answered, “14 years later and he still holds me responsible for what happened. He doesn’t want to admit that I wouldn’t have done drugs if he weren’t so fiscally irresponsible. He didn’t even try contacting me when I was being targeted by Lewis! And I was all over the national news.”

“Whatever impression he has of you, it’s wrong,” he replied, assuredly, “I still believe you’re a good person, Karen. Am I shocked by what you’ve told me, about Wesley and your brother? Yes. But it doesn’t cancel out the good things that you have done. You tried to do the right thing and it didn’t work out as planned, yet you soldiered on. I can’t really say I haven’t been in the same situation on more than a few occasions...”

Karen looked into Matt’s eyes, speechless. This was the opposite of how she expected him to react. And deep down, he was being sincere. She composed herself and smiled.

“I’ve actually been thinking about telling you this for a while,” she said, “Ever since you told me your secrets.”

“You didn’t have to tell me this. You, you don’t owe me anything.”

“To be fair, neither did you,” she fired back, “You could’ve kept me in the dark about Daredevil for as long as you wanted, but you chose to tell me. Nobody else got that privilege. Not Claire. Not Foggy. Not Father Lantom. Not even your friends at Midland Circle.”  

“I know…” That was true. Matt had had time to realize that Karen had indeed been the only person he’d ever willingly chosen to disclose his secret identity to. Everyone else who ever found out had either figured it out themselves (as Stick, Father Lantom, and Elektra had) or encountered him under less-than-optimal circumstances (like Claire, Foggy, Jessica, Luke, and Danny). He thought back to something Karen had said at that diner where they’d had lunch after the Aaron James verdict. “When you told me we needed some space to figure ourselves out, was this what you were talking about?”

“Pretty much,” she said, “All that time you were gone, I thought that the day you returned, we’d both need to be honest with one another. And I kept asking myself, whether you’d still want me in spite of knowing the things I’ve done. Wesley especially, given this whole shitstorm with Fisk. But I was always afraid, afraid you might judge me and…and reject me.”  She paused, curiosity seeping into her voice. “Was this what it was like for you, telling me your secret?”

Matt bit his lip. “Along the same lines. I thought you wouldn’t want anything with me after everything that had gone wrong with Frank’s trial. Honestly, I was relieved that you took it as well as you did, asking to see my suit like a kid wanting to open his Christmas presents early.”

“Well how rude would I be to turn down such an offer from the man who saved my life twice,” she said, mischievously, leaning in to kiss him.

When they broke the kiss, Matt said, “It’s late. Perhaps we should be headed to bed.”

Karen smiled softly. “Yeah. Sounds like a good idea." After the long day they'd had, sleep was one of only two things on her mind. "...Do I owe you any money?" she asked. "Seeing as I think that conversation we just had was more of an attorney asking questions of a client."

Matt chuckled. "You don't need to give an attorney money for attorney-client privilege to be in effect, Karen."

"Just checking."

"...I'm officially your lawyer in all regards," he went on, "If Fisk tries to jam you up in the courts, I _will_ be there for you, I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Yeah, Karen's confession to Matt about Wesley and her brother happens ahead of schedule. Like in the show, I have the order of the confessions stay the same (because Deborah Ann Woll talked on the EJ Scott podcast about it being this way). This is WAY more detailed than what they had in the church basement, which was just a four minute scene, and Matt never got to ask Karen things like "Why did you kill Wesley?" or "What happened the night you killed your brother?" (Some of the dialogue is lifted from both Wesley confessions Karen gives in the actual show; to Foggy at the end of episode 5, and Matt in episode 11)
> 
> \--In the interest of disclosure, some elements in this chapter were inspired/lifted from other authors' work so I am giving them credit here:
> 
> \---Some elements of ayy_zajjy's "The Sins of the Father" (a fic written in 2015-2016 where Elektra's father smuggled heroin for Fisk and was killed by Bullseye when he tried to quit; and Fisk got out of prison by having Bullseye kill Hoffman) were used for the information about Fisk's trial in federal court, the information that Karen uncovers about Rigoletto's murder, and the little back and forth Matt and Karen have about phone calls being recorded in jail.
> 
> \---The mentioned massacre of the Kitchen Irish by the Triads is based on a similar incident that happened in shuofthewind's "The Price of War" (an AU expansion of season 1 where Darcy Lewis worked with Matt and Foggy, and investigated a rape committed by one of Fisk and Nobu's business partners)
> 
> \---Rakefetzyz's "Like a Refugee" was used as inspiration for some of the information regarding how Karen hooked up with Todd.
> 
> \--Yes, I apologize that Karen's confessions to Wesley and her brother mean we have a chapter that is just one long scene of Matt and Karen talking, but have no fear! We're finally out of "No Good Deed" and ready to move on to "Blindsided".


	8. The Devil in the Cell Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt decides to hunt down the man who shanked Fisk, but things don't go according to plan.

**Wednesday, February 7th:**

Matt stirred as he woke up, feeling—if not exactly invigorated, at least—a great deal closer to his old self. He wasn’t necessarily ready to take on Fisk in a fistfight, but he was ready to start going after Fisk’s support pillars. Not thinking much of it, he lazily stretched out under the covers, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed. This feeling was interrupted when he registered Karen’s body being held firmly against his chest.  At this, he began to remember the events of the previous night. Having Thai food with Karen on the couch as they discussed potential strategy for going after Fisk. How that turned into Karen revealing that she’d killed two people: her brother and James Wesley. And after that, the two of them climbing into bed and drifting off, arms firmly wrapped around one another, which was where they were now.

As he lay there, he heard a change in Karen’s breath and felt her stir, rubbing her body against him. He inhaled deeply, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. Their lovemaking two nights ago had been one of the best sexual experiences he’d ever had, and he wanted to repeat that moment as soon as possible. It helped that he could feel she was wearing one of his dress shirts again, like she had the first night. Her long hair was draped over one of her shoulders. He brushed it to the side and nuzzled her neck, softly, too tired yet to open his eyes. He smiled as he heard Karen let out a sleepy moan.

“Good morning,” she murmured, cuddling closer to him. She was still half-asleep, her heart beat still slow, but he could tell that she was smiling at him. Before he could stop himself, he had pulled her firmly against his body and kissed her gently on the lips. The kiss seemed to be enough to waken her because she deepened the kiss. Before he knew it, she had removed his T-shirt and he was on top of her, both of them exploring the others’ mouth and running their hands through each others' hair. It wasn’t long before they were both naked and moving rapidly. Spent, they cuddled and sought each other's warmth.

“Do you want me to make breakfast again?” he asked her.

“What is it today?” she asked, grinning.

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” he said, smiling back as he climbed out of bed.

Matt dressed himself in a suit and tie, and went into the kitchen, pulling out pans for the bacon and eggs, and starting the coffee. As he dropped pieces of bacon into one pan, and eggs into the other, he thought about Karen’s confession last night. He had been stunned to learn that the mild-mannered Karen Page had in fact killed two people. But having had the night to think about it, perhaps she understood his violent urges in ways that no one else had, and his need to be both Daredevil and Matt Murdock. Not only was she the only person he’d ever willingly told his secret to, she seemed to have the best understanding of the struggles he faced in his double life. What it was like to try to do the right thing and have it blow up in your face. Everyone else who knew was someone who’d only really tapped into one side of his life or the other, and thus didn’t know him well enough to properly connect to him. Elektra and Stick had been completely involved in his Daredevil side; they didn’t care about Matt’s day job or his real friends. And while Foggy had been willing to help him, Matt could tell that there were days that his best friend had wished things could go back to how they were before the whole incident at the docks

He had just finished plating the bacon and eggs and had brought them over to the table when Karen emerged from the bedroom. Today, she'd chosen to go with a white long sleeve polo with a scoop neck, and a red skirt that matched nicely with it, not that Matt could notice it.

“Hey,” she said. “I hope this is as good it was yesterday.”

Matt laughed. “I added a little extra pepper. Not that you'll notice.”

They sat down and began digging into their food. As they ate, Karen opened her phone and checked the _New York Bulletin_ app.  The front page headline today was a photograph of police officers and paramedics attending to a wounded agent on a gurney at the scene of the Albanians’ attack on the motorcade, under the caption, “FBI BOTCHES FISK TRANSFER”.  She quickly scanned the article, which appeared to be a sensational piece—a far cry from the hard journalism Karen was usually covering. Her eyebrows steadily went up as she observed how critical Charlie Mason was of the FBI’s actions during the transfer. His article covered the details of the transfer’s route, as well as a profile on Benjamin Poindexter, the heroic agent who’d killed the gunmen. He’d evidently found it hard to believe that one agent could singlehandedly take down an entire hit squad that, moments earlier, had managed to kill or maim the majority of the other agents in the convoy. It also turned out that this had been far from Poindexter’s first usage of lethal force and reportedly, the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility was opening an investigation into the shooting amidst questions regarding some of his actions.  Mason had also managed to score interviews with some of the dead agents’ families, whose names had now been released to the press.

Karen also spent breakfast thinking back on her big confession. Although she was grateful that Matt hadn’t condemned her for what she’d done, one thing didn’t sit right with her about Matt’s acceptance of her for who she was: how could he be so okay with her being a killer, when he claimed he had been disillusioned with Elektra for the same, and he had openly condemned Frank for killing?

“So,” she said when they moved back over to the couch, “There’s something I want to ask you.” Was there any point in trying to decide if she could fully accept his benediction? Finally, she had decided her best option was to just ask him directly.

“Of course,” he said, wondering what was making her anxious. “What is it?”

Karen bit her lip and grabbed her notepad and pencil from her bag.

"It’s about last night," she said, erring on the side of caution.

“Last night?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. _What else was there to talk about?_ “You mean…our talk? About Wesley and your brother?” He took her silence to be a ‘yes’. “I mean it, Karen, you’re a good person. Even if you’ve done some horrible things.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Karen said, looking down at her hands. She took a deep breath. “…I appreciate what you told me, Matt. That you still want me, in spite of all my secrets.”

"Well what do you want to know?" Matt seemed genuinely concerned.

Karen loosened her hands and exhaled. “You seemed perfectly okay last night with what I told you, that I’d killed two people. Yet when we were working on Frank’s trial, you told me that you thought that killing people is wrong. That only God has the right to decide a person’s fate.”

He remembered that conversation they had had on this very couch, when they were preparing for Dr. Tepper’s testimony.

“I did,” he said, faintly. He grabbed one of her hands and held it between his.

“I said that I was unsure whether I believe in Frank’s methodology,” Karen continued, “whether it’d be more effective to save people or be proactive so they don’t have to be saved. What do you really think?”

“I have never killed anyone, Karen, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered. “I don’t believe in killing as a first resort.”

“But what about Frank Castle?” she asked. “What are your thoughts on him?”

Matt sighed. “I don’t agree with the extent of his methods.” He paused, and resumed. “I told you the other night that he shot me in the head. But...I had already met him twice, before we ever approached him at the hospital.”

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before saying, “Remember the sting with Grotto? Where Reyes tried to use him as bait for Frank?”

“I remember,” Karen said, quietly.

“Well, something happened after that that I’ve never told anyone about,” he said. “I fought Frank, in an effort to stop him from taking out Grotto there. He managed to capture me and he chained me up to a chimney on the roof of an apartment building not too far from there. And we talked. He felt perfectly justified in his actions, that the people he killed all deserved to die. Even Grotto, who up to that point we all thought was just a minor runner for the Kitchen Irish. He called me a half-measure, someone incapable of finishing the job.”

Karen felt her skin go pale. Matt could hear she was holding her breath. Frank had never told her about this either, and she suspected if he had, she probably wouldn’t have developed any sympathy at all for him.

“He gave me a gun, and tried to get me to kill him by threatening to shoot Grotto. Kept saying, I’m one bad day away from being him”

“And?” she asked, her voice not much above a whisper.

“I settled on shooting the chains he used to restrain me,” he said, sheepishly. “It was too late to stop him from killing Grotto.”

“Jesus, Matt...” she said.

Matt squeezed her hand. “I know you’re sympathetic to Frank, and after what you told me last night, I can see why. What happened to his family was tragic. But I didn’t think it meant his methods were justified.”

Karen thought back, remembering all the things they’d said. “I wanted to believe that Frank was a good person,” she said, “Like, if I could prove he wasn’t a monster, then maybe by extension I wasn’t one either.”

“I don’t believe you’re one,” Matt said, “Not everyone who kills is a bad person. People who kill in self defense of their loved ones or to defend someone else. I don’t like it when people are driven into such corners that it’s the only way out of a bad situation, but that’s just life. When you shot Todd, you were protecting your brother. And when you killed Wesley, you were protecting us. You also said you felt horrible about what you had to do. I’m in no position to judge you for that. It’s something I’ve struggle with every day.”

He exhaled. “The truth is, I think Frank was on to something when he told me I was one bad day away from becoming him. I may not kill. But there are times that I want to.” It was not an easy thing to confess to. “The night after Elena was killed, I had every intention of killing Fisk. I went to the docks, actually, to confront him.”

“You went to confront Fisk?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It was all a trap.” He laughed, mirthlessly. “Should’ve realized something was off when the junkie who killed Elena gave me very specific information as to where I should go. Fisk, he - he knew I’d come after him. I went to the warehouse, right where the junkie told me.”

“And Fisk was there.”

“Nobu was waiting for me…” Matt sighed. “What the Hand use to bring people back from the dead, it makes those people _different._ I lit him on fire.” There was no satisfaction in his voice.

“Jesus Christ,” Karen whispered.

“I wasn’t even trying to kill him,” he continued, “There was gasoline on the floor, and I hit a light above him. And then Fisk entered the room. He was with Wesley and one of his bodyguards. I was in no state to fight him and he…beat me, pretty badly. Then he had Wesley and the other guard shoot at me. I threw myself out a window to escape the gunfire.”

Karen considered mentioning that the circumstances were different. Matt had wanted to kill Fisk in a moment of rage, while she had killed Wesley in a moment of desperation. But she felt she got the point Matt was trying to make, about wanting someone dead. She had wanted Wesley dead.

“Thank you for telling me this,” she said slowly.

A comfortable silence fell between them. After about a minute or so, Karen broke it, intent on figuring out what their next step to bringing down Fisk was.

 “So, uh…what’s on the agenda today?” she asked. “Regarding Fisk?”

“Oh,” Matt said, caught off guard by the change of subject. He had spent breakfast thinking about what they’d discussed last night, in regards to where they should look to find a witness who could prove the FBI were being manipulated. “I’m going to visit the prison.”

Karen’s eyes widened with alarm.  _Going to a prison Fisk controls? That ended badly the last time you tried that._ “Are you serious?”

“Whoever Fisk paid to shank him is still there,” he answered, getting up to grab his coat. “I’ll see if I can get him to talk to me.” Karen got up and followed him.

“Matt!” she hissed, fear coursing through her body. Matt stopped and turned around to face her. “Fisk might still have eyes on the place. What if it’s a trap? His chance to get even with you for the threats you made when you visited him? He might start realizing we’re onto him.”

“I’m doubtful that he doesn't already know that,” Matt replied, “Donovan’s probably told him by now about our little incident in the parking garage. And if he has people in the FBI under his control, they probably saw the two of us talking to SAC Hattley.” He sighed. "And who knows, I bet Hattley's on his payroll. There was something off about the way she answered our questions yesterday."

Karen bit her lip. She was absolutely terrified about the idea of Matt going into a men’s prison all by himself. True, he could fight very well, better than most sighted people, but... that didn't change the fact that he’d be a blind man walking into a lion’s den, full of inmates and guards who might be under orders to kill him. “You sure you want to go alone?”

“I at least have a legitimate reason to be there,” he said, putting his coat on. "You, not so much."

“What is that?” she asked. "What's your plan?"

Matt paused. “There was a client we represented at Nelson & Murdock who did some work for the Albanians a while back. Michael Kemp. Do you remember him?”

Karen nodded. “That guy who worked for Foggy's brother?” Michael had been a childhood friend of Foggy’s, who ended up working for Theo and became a low level enforcer for the Kitchen Irish, seeking to earn some money to pay for his mom's cancer treatments. When he got arrested, Reyes had been intent on giving Michael a twenty year stint in prison on a sleuth of conspiracy charges, but Matt and Foggy had taken the case at Theo's behest and were able to plea bargain his sentence down to just five years in exchange for some of his more severe charges being thrown out.

“Michael is housed at Rikers,” Matt explained, “And it seems he did some side jobs for the Albanians. I think he might be able to get me to Vic Jusufi.”

“You sure he will talk?” Karen sounded skeptical.

“He’ll talk to me,” Matt sounded confident.

Karen bit her lip. “At least promise me you won’t get hurt—”

He interrupted her by pulling her in for a deep kiss, holding her firmly against his chest.

“I’ll be fine, Karen,” he said, pulling away and planting a kiss on her forehead. “You can keep looking into the Vancorp money trail. I’ll come by your office after I’m done and then we can go grab lunch and find the Kazemi attackers.”

Giving her another quick kiss on the lips, he exited out the front door, while Karen stood there in the hallway, her heart still pounding rapidly. This was the first time since learning Matt’s abilities that she had to face the prospect of him going out into a life-threatening situation all by himself. And it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

**Rikers Island Penitentiary:**

Prison visits were par for the course in Matt’s duties as a lawyer. Though that wasn’t to say that he enjoyed them. He hated them. Most of the time, they were a massive assault on his senses. What he hated most was the smells of so many hardened convicts being housed under one roof. All that testosterone and suppressed anger and rage. Still, it was a testament to his heroism that Matt was willing to put up with this if it was what it took to find information proving that Wilson Fisk had conned his way out of prison into a luxury hotel penthouse. It was also a testament that he was willing to go there, despite his common sense warning him that Karen was probably right and there was a chance Fisk had something planned for if Matt visited the prison.

As far as cover stories to explain why he was at the prison were concerned, Matt had selected Michael Kemp. Michael was a good kid, or at least he used to. He’d grown up with Foggy and Brett and played softball with them. He had been a straight A student all through high school and participated in the men’s choir. After graduating, he ended up getting a job working for Foggy’s family at Nelson’s Meats. But then his mother got sick, diagnosed with cancer, and Michael found that his salary and insurance would not be enough to cover her treatments. In a moment of desperation, he ended up being recruited by the Kitchen Irish, figuring that they’d allow him to earn enough money on the side to make sure she was looked after. Luck was on his side, as she eventually went into remission. Michael did a fair amount of grunt work for the Irish, cleaning up their messes and driving their bosses, among other things. In his spare time, he also had done some work for the Albanians. Like with any criminal, the law eventually caught up to him.  District Attorney Samantha Reyes had tried to prosecute Michael, which would’ve gotten him sent away for 20 years. Fortunately, Matt and Foggy had come to Michael’s aid, and plea-bargained his sentence down to just 5 years in exchange for giving up a few bigger fish in the Kitchen Irish. Reyes was not happy with Nelson & Murdock upstaging her, and Matt suspected that this loss had been at least partially why she’d double-crossed the firm when they were trying to negotiate protection for Grotto. Until the firm broke up, Matt and Foggy kept in touch with Michael once a month, and they'd learned that Michael was studying psychology, in hopes of finding new skills that would make him a productive member of society once he got out.

The taxi ride out to Riker’s was very long and slow, especially on a Wednesday morning at the tail end of rush hour. With the heavy traffic on New York City’s highways, it took about an hour for the minivan that Matt got assigned to to go from his apartment to the front gates of the prison courtyard, not helped by the zig-zag route they took to get there. Which involved traveling up the Henry Hudson Parkway to the Trans-Manhattan Expressway, followed by a quick hop across the Harlem River to the Bronx on the Alexander Hamilton Bridge. From there, it was a cruise down I-78 to the Triborough Bridge, where it fed into I-278 to Queens.  Once in Queens,  the cab had to navigate a windy route rough the streets of Astoria to get over to the Rikers Island Bridge, the only source of road access to and from the island.

It was 10:30 when Matt’s cab deposited him in the prison’s courtyard.

“Is this good?” the driver asked, his voice momentarily drowned out by the sound of a plane taking off from LaGuardia Airport nearby.

“Yeah here’s fine,” Matt answered. He rifled through his wallet, trying to feel the braille labels on the various cards to single out his credit card.

“Hey, you paying with card? 'Cause, you know, cash is better.”

Matt chuckled and grabbed a wad of $20s from his wallet (identifiable by the use of a double rubber band), which he handed through the partition to his driver.

“Wait for me,” he said, moving to slide open the passenger's door. He reasoned that his visit to the prison wouldn’t take too long, and it would be a lot more convenient if he had a ride waiting for him when he was done talking to Michael. And if something went wrong, as he feared it might, he wouldn’t be stuck waiting for a getaway vehicle.

“Oh, yeah,” the cabbie chuckled, “Yeah, I can do that.”

With his ride arranged, Matt got out of the cab and entered the prison. He was buzzed through a set of security gates and doors, a wearisome ritual that Foggy had joked was like the opening sequence from _Get Smart._ This brought him to the guard’s desk. There was a lone guard on duty, reading his morning newspaper.

“Hi,” Matt said, approaching the window. “Good morning.”

The guard looked up from his newspaper. Matt sensed his heartrate change, as if he thought the new visitor looked familiar.

“Purpose for your visit?” the guard asked, managing to maintain a poker face.

“I have an appointment with my client,” Matt said, “I called earlier. I should be on the visitor list.”

“ID.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Matt said, reaching into his wallet and grabbing his New York Bar card. It was the closest thing he had to a valid form of identification, since a driver's license would be pointless to a blind person.

“This is my New York Bar number,” he said, sliding it under the glass. “Now, it's not picture ID, I know, but it did take seven years and cost me $300,000 in student loans.” He chuckled. “Does it, uh, buy me anything?”

The guard picked up the Bar card and spent a moment studying it, just to make sure it was authentic. After a very tense moment, he handed the card back to Matt and asked, “Name?”

“Uh, Murdock,” Matt said, “Matthew Murdock."

“Visitor’s room is through the door on your left, Mr. Murdock,” the guard said, looking down and resuming reading his newspaper.

“Thank you.” Matt turned, extending his cane as the guard unlocked the door, waving him through. _He could at least have been nice enough to get an escort for me._

As soon as Matt was out of sight, the guard who had just scanned his ID picked up his iPhone and dialed a number on his contacts list.

“This is Felix Manning,” the British gentleman on the other end of the line said when he picked up.

“Good morning, Mr. Manning,” the guard said. “Fisk said to call if one of the lawyers who put him away popped by?”

“That’s correct, Mr. Finski,” Felix replied.

“Well, uh...one of them just did, Mr. Manning,” the guard said, in a hushed voice.

“Which one?”

“Matt Murdock.”

* * *

 **Presidential Hotel:**  
Fisk's morning started much earlier than that of the vigilante couple investigating him. He’d been rousted at 5:50 am for a mandatory room check. Dex and Lim came up and did a thorough sweep of Fisk’s bedroom for contraband. Or rather, Lim did the sweep, while Dex subjected Fisk to a full-body patdown for weapons. From the tiny smirk on his prospective protégé’s face, Fisk could tell Dex enjoyed having power over people like him, and probably resented being a bottom feeder. He was very satisfied when he noticed Dex take a secondary look at him as he exited the penthouse. Clearly Dex was becoming more and more curious as to why his prisoner was taking such an interest in him. In fact, Dex had no idea that Fisk had tasked a couple of his henchmen with following him all day ever since yesterday afternoon.

Obtaining Poindexter’s personnel and medical records was just one step in Fisk’s plan to turn him into a loyal attack dog. But given how he’d acted when Fisk tried expressing sympathy for his fallen colleagues, Fisk suspected that he needed a little more push. So in addition to asking for Poindexter’s records, Fisk also directed Donovan to send word to their contacts in the FBI that an internal investigation was to be opened into the ambush on the motorcade. They would inevitably find a discrepancy between Dex’s statement about the attack and the forensics report on the shooting. He gambled that in due time, the Office of Professional Responsibility would send a few agents to the penthouse to get a statement from him about Dex. Fisk’s plan was to lie to the agents, claiming that Dex had acted in self-defense. When Dex inevitably watched the tape, he’d see the interview, and come to confront him. And this would be the moment where Fisk would lay his hook. That morning’s edition of the _Bulletin_ would come in handy here. There was an article on the front page with the headline “FBI BOTCHES FISK TRANSFER”, which had branded the motorcade shooting as a travesty. The press didn’t understand Dex any better than his own colleagues, Fisk surmised. Dex wanted to be hailed as a hero, which was the opposite of the angle the article was going for, as the author seemed to lump him in with every other cop who'd ever used lethal force since Ferguson four years ago.

He was interrupted from his morning of staring at the wall where he planned to hang “Rabbit in a Snowstorm” when Hattley entered the penthouse and whispered in his ear that Felix Manning had arrived at the hotel and was demanding to see him in the war room immediately. _Why does Felix want to see me now? Has there been a change of plans regarding his scheduled meetings with Rosalie Carbone and Anibal Izqueda tonight?_ Sighing, Fisk got up from his chair and made his way up the stairs to the bedroom, then turned and entered the giant walk-in closet attached to it.

When he’d bought the hotel from Kazemi six months ago, he knew he’d need a way to continue giving orders to his underlings even while under house arrest. In all fairness, he could’ve settled on having Donovan be his lone intermediary, using client meetings as cover for him to send messages. However, Fisk was also a cautious man who learned from his mistakes. One mistake he’d resolved never to make again, was that he shouldn’t have just one person serve as his mouthpiece. Wesley had been very competent in this role, but he was the only line of communication between Fisk and most of his enforcers. And when he died, Fisk had no one left to replace him. It was this oversight, he suspected, that was in part why his escape plan hadn’t worked out. Without Wesley, he’d had to make arrangements for Vanessa’s protection by himself, and he had no one left to assist him with his own escape.  As a result, upon his arrival in prison, he decided to delegate Wesley's duties in his organization to two people.

Donovan was one of them, functioning as Fisk's consigliere, his Tom Hagen, so to speak. The other one, and whom had directly replaced Wesley as the main street boss, was Felix Manning, a dapper British gentleman in his 50s who had been a close friend of Wesley's and taught him many useful skills. In Fisk's eyes, this made him the perfect replacement for Wesley insofar as strongarming people who needed extra persuasion. With his background in finance, Felix also served as an uber-competent replacement for Owlsley; and certainly less likely to steal from him. He had taken upon the tasks of laundering Fisk's money through Red Lion National Bank and had also been responsible for setting up meetings with several gangs around the city to see if they could get gangs to pay his protection tax with simple persuasion and no intimidation.

Fisk's decision to delegate orders through both Donovan and Felix was smart, but it also led to a logistical issue: while Donovan could talk to Fisk in the penthouse using the pretense of lawyer visits, Felix couldn't. And Fisk would prefer to talk to Felix directly than send messages through Donovan. So upon purchasing the Presidential, he’d also directed for his people to construct a secret passage from the bedroom, accessible through a sliding door in the closet disguised as a functioning shoe rack. From here, there was a staircase that traveled down three stories to the 49th floor, exiting into a hotel suite that had been gutted and converted into a command center, not unlike the one the FBI had set up on the penthouse floor. The main room, converted from a former living room, was very dimly lit, and had two stations, each with one rolling chair, a control panel, and several monitors. The room was to function as a place where he could secretly relay orders to Felix and other henchmen without the FBI guards observing him. There was also a bedroom for the techs to catch sleep during overnight hours, and a combined kitchen/dining room, where Fisk could conduct longer meetings if the need arose.

When Fisk got downstairs to the command center, Barbara Shelby was sitting at her station, monitoring the surveillance feeds from the penthouse cameras on her screens. At the other station, which served as Fisk’s station, was a wall of five freestanding monitors, each of which he noticed was tuned to feeds from the surveillance cameras at the prison. Felix was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him, holding his hands behind his back in parade rest. 

"Felix," Fisk said, curtly.

“I am terribly sorry to bother you so early, sir, but there is a matter going on that  cannot wait,” Felix said, bowing respectfully as he always had done when visiting Fisk in prison. He was one of the few people Fisk had who were loyal to him out of some degree of respect for him, as opposed to being threatened/intimidated/bribed into compliance.

“Have negotiations with our prospective partners fallen apart?” Fisk asked, impatient. _Was there an unexpected complication towards convincing Rosalie Carbone and Anibal Izqueda to meet with you tonight? You should be able to handle those complications by yourself.  
_

Felix shook his head. “Matthew Murdock has shown up at the prison,” he reported.

Like when Donovan had told him about Matt and Karen talking to Tammy Hattley last night, it took every ounce of Fisk’s strength to not lash out at the mention of Matt Murdock’s name.  _Seriously, he's really getting to be a pain in the ass._ “Murdock?” he asked, repeating. 

“He showed his bar ID to one of our guards and said he had come to see a client,” Felix explained.

"...Is that so?" Fisk clicked his tongue.

"Seems legit enough," Felix replied, "Except he's seeing a guy named Michael Kemp. And Kemp's under...protection from Vic Jusufi, according to our friends on the inside."

"I see." Fisk's lips curved upwards just slightly. Matt Murdock had no idea that he was walking into a trap. After the blind imbecile’s visit last year, during which he'd threatened to send a letter to the State Department to bar Vanessa from ever being allowed to return to the United States, Fisk had directed the guards and inmates he owned that if Murdock ever showed up again, they were to instigate a riot and shank him in the confusion. No one would ask any questions about it. 

“Is the plan underway?” he gestured with his head towards the screens.

“It's being readied, sir, as we speak,” Felix answered.

"You have made sure that anyone who can link Evans to me has been dealt with?"

"To the best of our abilities, sir," Felix nodded, "The guard assures me that Murdock will be hard pressed to find anyone willing to talk about your incident."

Fisk shrugged, taking a seat at the big station, as Felix continued speaking. “And even if he finds out the truth, I guarantee he won’t make it out of there alive."

“Yes, prisons can be a dangerous place for blind people...” Fisk mused, shifting his focus to one security camera, which was located in the visitation room. On the feed, he could see Murdock sitting down at a table with another prisoner. "Let's see if this just a 'client visit' or something more." _I have you now, Mr. Murdock,_ he thought. _Time for you to join Leland and Anatoly on my list of people who needed it taught just what's in store when you threaten the women in my life_ _._

* * *

**Rikers Island Penitentiary:**

Matt was led to a communal room that was set aside for inmates to have family visits as well as client consultations. It was like a giant version of the interrogation rooms at the 15th Precinct, with bolted-down tables and nonbolted chairs, but large. He sat down at one table by the windows, which faced out onto the courtyard, and waited intently for Michael to be brought to him. Michael Kemp may have been small fry, but Matt was optimistic that he could be easily persuaded to give him access to Vic Jusufi on account of his past street cred.

It was only a few minutes before a corrections officer escorted Michael over to his table.

“Matt!” Michael exclaimed, jovially, delighted to see one of his two favorite lawyers.

“What's up, Michael?” Matt smiled back.

“Oh, man, it's good to see you,” Michael smiled, leaning over the table to hug Matt tightly.

“It's good to see you, too,” Matt replied.

“Even if it is in this shithole!”

With the pleasantries exchanged, Michael sat down across from Matt. Matt was ready to get down to business. “I'm sure you're wondering-”

“Look I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said shithole,” Michael interrupted, waving his hands in front of him, “I'm trying not to curse.” He laughed. “I mean, what's the point of me getting out of here in 18 months with a degree in psychology, top of my class, if I still swear like a goddamn sailor?” Matt smirked at him. “Oops, did it again. Well, sorry, Saint Matthew.”

Matt laughed. Prison hadn’t sucked the humor out of Michael after all. “No, come on, I'm no saint,” he said.

“You and Foggy got 16 years knocked off my sentence," Michael said, "If that's not divine intervention, huh?”

Matt smiled. "I'd say, it's more like it was the best deal that Reyes was willing to cop to." He chuckled. "Probably the most merciful I ever remember her being, God rest her soul." _I hated her for trying to screw us over on the Castle case...but she didn't deserve to die like that._

“Say, where is Foggy?" Michael asked, out of curiosity. "I've never seen you two apart.”

“We're not, uh…” Matt bit his tongue. He considered the details of Nelson & Murdock’s breakup to be privileged information not to be shared with clients. Both because that was none of the clients’ business, but also because the reasons for the split had to do with a big secret that only a few people were supposed to know about. So he settled for a simple, “We're not working together anymore.”

“Aw, man, that sucks,” Michael said, disappointed.

“Yeah,” Matt said glumly. “I’m still with Karen, though.” _Although I’m hoping we’ll maybe resume Nelson & Murdock once Fisk goes away_.

“That blonde secretary of yours? She’s cute,” Michael said.

“Well, we’re living together now. And she now writes hard journalism for the  _Bulletin_ , so…” Matt motioned with his hands.

“Oh,” Michael replied. “That’s fantastic.”

 _But I’m not here to discuss my new relationship with Karen._ Matt leaned a bit over the table and said, “Listen, I don't want anyone other than Karen to know that I was here, so-”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Michael nodded.

“I appreciate it,” Matt said.

Michael leaned back in his chair, confused as to why Matt was being so secretive. “So uh, what's the big mystery?”

Matt looked down briefly at his fingers, then back up in Michael’s direction. _Here we go…_

“Yeah, so, look, you, um, worked with the Albanians, right?” he prompted.

“Yeah a long time ago,” Michael answered, “Low-level stuff. Mostly just running.”

“Mm-hmm,” Matt tugged at the cuffs on his shirt, “But they're offering you protection in here?”

Michael scoffed. He must have thought this was highly unusual behavior for anyone, much less a lawyer like Matt Murdock, to be asking about the Albanians. His confusion was clear in the way he asked, “What do you want with the Albanians?”

“I want an introduction,” Matt stated, plainly.

“Oh. Well, if somebody needs a defense lawyer, I'll make sure to pass your name along. Glowing review. But, you know, folks in here..." he shrugged. "...they're murdering bastards.”

Matt grimaced. The way he’d phrased that, Michael had been led to believe he had come to offer legal services for the Albanians. Which was _far_ from what he considered to be his typical clientele. “I want an introduction to Vic Jusufi,” he declared, more forcefully.

Michael’s heartrate changed and he went deathly silent. _He does have an 'in' with them._

“Nobody gets in with Vic,” he said, in a very low whisper.

Matt pursed his lips.  _I'd say otherwise._ “You can't make it happen?”

Michael glanced over his left shoulder. He was staring at another inmate seated at another table nearby. Matt felt his own heart racing, trying to decide whether this inmate was a spy working for Fisk or someone with the Albanians, keeping an eye on Michael to make sure he stayed in line. Hopefully it was the latter.

“What do you want with him, anyway?” Michael whispered, turning around to face Matt again. Matt slowly took off his glasses and put them in the protective case in his suit pocket. He normally never took his glasses off unless he was alone in a private and intimate setting, like with Karen the past two nights, or whenever he was alone with Foggy. But here, he figured his sightless, cross-eyed stare would be necessary to loosen Michael’s lips.

“Wilson Fisk could've turned on any crime organization,” Matt said, leaning in, “I want to know why the Albanians. What do they have on Fisk?”

Matt could smell the fear wafting off of Michael’s skin. Maybe he didn’t think that highly of Fisk. Or perhaps he had seen what Fisk was capable of and didn’t want Matt to get himself hurt. From the sound of his heartbeat, the beads of sweat forming on his brow, Michael seemed to be scared.

“Just, uh let this go,” Michael said.

“No, I can't do that,” Matt persisted, “Fisk stays out, innocent people die.”

“I don't know shit!”

“Michael, you can help me!” he  pleaded.

“No!”

“Come on-“ Matt started.

“You're gonna get me killed!” Michael exclaimed, believing Matt didn’t know how dangerous the Albanians in the prison were.

Matt paused. Then he heard a cracking sound. Michael had his hands under the table and was curling them into fists. A split second later, Michael rose from his chair, and without any warning, delivered a right uppercut to the side of Matt’s face, making contact just below his left eye. Matt slumped back in his chair, dazed. He raised his left hand to his cheek, feeling a fresh bruise where Michael had punched him. _At least there’s no bleeding. Karen’s probably gonna notice, though..._

“Get this guy away from me! I don't know him!” Michael shouted loudly, as everyone else stopped what they were doing and stared at the source of the sudden ruckus. A pair of guards ran over and pulled him away as he prepared to throw another punch at Matt. “Get him away! Get him away!”

“That's enough!” one of the guards said, “Assault by an inmate-“

Michael turned to the inmate he’d been staring at a few moments earlier. “I said nothing! On my mother! MY MOTHER!” he screamed as the guards dragged him through another set of doors and back to his cell.

From the tone in his voice, Matt surmised that Michael had thrown that punch for show, to keep the Albanians in the prison from thinking that he’d given anything incriminating away to a guy they thought might have been from the FBI. The guy Michael had been looking at was one of their lookouts.

“Sir?” Another guard came over to Matt to check on him.

Matt laughed, shakily, put his glasses back on and stood up, grabbing his cane. “It's all right. It's just a misunderstanding.”

“Mr. Murdock, you need to get checked out by the nurse,” the guard said, in a more insistent tone.

“It's fine. I'm fine,” Matt waved him off. _In my other line of work, I’ve had worse injuries than this._

“Then you can say that on an incident report,” the guard said curtly. “It’s for liability reasons. Can't let you leave until you sign one.”

Right. The last thing prisons like Rikers liked were lawsuits, and they didn’t want to be liable for any injuries that happened to visitors. Besides, maybe it would get him closer to Vic Jusufi, wherever in the maze of cell blocks he was housed. “Yeah, all right.”

“Follow me.”

* * *

Matt followed the guard through a security gate and entered the cell block. He passed by some guards who had a bunch of inmates corralled with their hands against the walls. Eventually, he was led through one of the cell blocks. The whole time, his heart was racing out of control. He was in the mouth of the lion’s den, where it’d be hard to make a quick escape if things went south. And he had a very bad feeling that they truly were about to head south. He had to filter through a lot of noise: inmates yelling at their friends in adjoining cells, a few guys playing cards in a day room a few halls over, the clanking of weights from the weight room, the guards leading inmates around. The smell was just as unbearable, that of piss and urine and rotten food.

As the guard led him past the cells, he could tell the inmates in them were staring at him. He thought he heard one of them hissing at him like a serpent, and another whistling, which didn’t make him feel any better. He could hear Karen's voice echoing in his head, repeating what she'd said before he left his apartment about the possibility that Fisk might be anticipating him.  _Just assume everyone here is working for Fisk._ Eventually, his escort led him to a small exam room. It was a tiny space. There was a bed in the middle of the room, covered in paper. On one side were several cabinets containing medical supplies, and on the other side, there was a desk with a chair. The room had a single security camera in the far corner opposite the door, where it had a full view of everything, and there was also an old wall-mounted telephone that must have been from the 1970s.

“Wait in here,” the guard said, “The nurse should be by.”

“Thanks,” Matt said, as the guard closed the door behind him.

Not having a need for it at the moment, Matt pocketed his glasses again and folded his cane. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for the nurse to come by and check him over for injuries.

Now that he was alone, he could contemplate his next move. How was he going to get to Vic Jusufi in here? Sure, a lawyer like him had a legitimate excuse for visiting the prison, but the Albanians had their own counsel and would know Matt wasn’t part of their legal team. And for that matter, how would he get to Vic without arousing suspicion from the guards? Guards that he suspected Fisk was still paying.  
  
He also took this time to dwell a bit about his relationships with Karen and Foggy. Foggy was still insistent on running for District Attorney, and despite what he’d said to him last night, Matt realized... that it might not hurt to make a few public appearances with Foggy at press events. It would probably look good for Foggy if it appeared that his best friend of seven years was throwing his undivided support behind the campaign, even if it made him a bigger target for Fisk. Hell, he and Foggy had a friend in the press thanks to Karen.

 _Karen._ More importantly, though, Matt couldn’t help but think heavily about Karen, and her confessions from last night. She had experienced losses and traumatic experiences of her own, yet managed to keep fighting in spite of them. She had made mistakes, but she refused to let her mistakes define who she was.  They had way more in common than he thought they’d had. They were both determined to make good triumph over evil and passionate about seeking justice for Fisk’s victims. Admittedly though, Karen was a lot better at compartmentalizing and a lot less self-destructive than he was. Matt suspected that the primary reason for this was that her secrets involved things that she’d done, whereas his secrets were about essential parts of who he currently was. And for both of them, airing their secrets to one another hadn’t weakened their bond, but strengthened it. Despite his reservations about killing, he actually felt Karen had done a pretty brave thing in killing Wesley, and that doing so had been very essential to toppling Fisk, the first time at any rate. Wesley had been such an essential middleman that Matt suspected if he’d not died, Fisk would’ve successfully escaped the US alongside Vanessa and would be relaxing on a beach a few islands down from wherever Tully had fled to. 

He was interrupted from his musings when the nurse showed up, about twenty minutes after Matt had been first left there. It was a tall guy in his mid-thirties, sporting a clipboard and some papers. The man's heartbeat was pounding rapidly, despite his outwardly calm expression. _Is this nurse on Fisk's payroll? Best to assume he is._

“Sorry again for the wait,” the nurse said, in an apologetic tone. He felt Matt’s chin with his fingers, checking to see if there was any damage to his jaw. “But, good news, it's not dislocated.”

“Great,” Matt said, “So I can go?”

“I’m almost done,” the nurse said, clicking a pen as he wrote down information in his report. “Honestly, this paperwork is a waste of time. It just ends up in a file somewhere.” He laughed in embarrassment. Like this was something that happened every day. He got out a tiny flashlight from a drawer in the medical supply cabinet.

“I am now going to check your pupils to make sure you're not concussed.” He shined it in Matt’s eyes. “Just look up for a minute.”

Matt grabbed the nurse’s flashlight hand. Was this guy ignorant, trying to shine light into a blind man’s eyes? “No, just give me the paperwork, please,” he spoke up insistently. _I really want to get to Vic. And I also don't trust you.  
_

The nurse sighed and put the flashlight down. “Okay. Let's get you out of here.” He walked back over to the drawer and put the flashlight away and began rummaging for something else. Matt felt a pit forming in his stomach as he realized the guy wasn’t searching the drawer, but his shirt pocket. _He's probably trying to grab a weapon._  

“I forgot to mention, if you come down with any headaches the next couple of days, make sure that you-“

Matt didn’t hear a word the nurse was saying. He stiffened up and felt his hairs stand on end as the nurse’s voice was drowned out by a whirring noise coming from the security camera. The camera had come to life and swiveled so that it was focused squarely on him. _Uh-oh..._

He had barely registered the camera when the nurse suddenly brandished a needle and syringe and swung it at his arm. In one swift movement, Matt caught his wrist and twisted it sharply, directing the needle away from his skin. The nurse struggled for several seconds to regain control of the syringe, but Matt eventually prevailed, causing the syringe to fall, clattering to the floor.  The nurse, now defenseless, tried to swing at Matt’s face with his other hand, but Matt gave him a quick haymaker, spun him around, and then a quick jab to the face with his right elbow. The nurse fell and hit his head on the back of the desk chair, which knocked him unconscious.

“Goddamn it!” Matt stomped his foot, eying the unconscious nurse at his feet. Fisk knew he was here. And the camera in the room was recording the whole thing. If Fisk was watching that video live, he had ironclad proof of Daredevil’s real identity. Matt knew Fisk was smart. There was no way he wouldn't recognize the fighting style of a man he'd brawled with twice, a man whom he'd watched engage Nobu in a fight to the death.

Matt ran to the door, and tried pulling on it, to no avail.

“COME ON!” he growled.

Then it hit Matt. The door had been remotely locked. _Shit. Fisk has trapped me in here!_   “Goddamnit!”

He walked over to the sole window in the room and began trying to remove the mesh separating him from the glass, hoping that he could bust through it and escape to the outside.  He could do with some scrapes and cuts, but that was nothing new for him; he got those all the time from parkouring around Hell’s Kitchen.  He tugged at the mesh, but it was no use. It wouldn’t give way either.

His efforts were cut off when the room was suddenly filled with the sound of an ancient telephone ringing. It took a moment for him to realize that the source of this ringing was the telephone on the wall by the door. _Is that the warden calling, to see if everything is all right?_ Matt thought. But he dismissed that just as quickly as he thought of it. It couldn’t be the warden. It had to be… _oh shit._ Matt felt his innards turn inside out as he realized… _It's got to be Fisk, wanting to call and tell me how I’m screwed before he sends inmates to kill me._ Matt nervously approached the phone, wondering whether or not he should answer it. _Why not? I’m a dead man either way._ After a few moments of hesitation, he gingerly picked up the receiver like it was made of sugar glass.

“I have never witnessed...such a masquerade as yours,” said the low gravelly voice of Wilson Fisk. Even though Matt had anticipated Fisk to be the one calling this phone, just hearing his voice again, this time out loud as opposed to in his head or on a newscast, was still enough to send shivers down his spine. It felt very much like the night Matt first ever heard Fisk's voice for himself, when he came over Officer Sullivan's police radio in that abandoned warehouse.

“Fisk,” Matt sputtered, rubbing his Adam’s apple with his free hand.

“It's quite something to see,” Fisk said, “For a blind man, you have very impressive reflexes, _Mr. Murdock_.”

 _You know I'm Daredevil._ Matt turned his head away from the receiver to face the security camera, which he now knew Fisk was watching live. _Somehow. How the hell is he doing that?_ As far as Matt could tell, Fisk was being monitored by the FBI around the clock. He couldn't possibly be able to directly contact this specific phone in the prison from his suite in the Presidential Hotel, not without his FBI handlers noticing. _Alternately, they DO know, and he's bribing them to turn a blind eye..._

“What do you want, Fisk?” Matt growled, "Why are you doing this?"

“Do you remember the last time that we spoke?” Fisk asked.

 _"Spoke" would be an understatement,_ Matt thought, feeling a knot forming in his stomach. _More like, "you slammed my head against a table a half-dozen times, choked me, and threatened my life and Foggy’s life."_ He swallowed a lump of bile in his throat, snippets of Fisk's rantings from that day playing back in his head, and nodded slowly.

“You said that for the cost of postage,” Fisk continued, “you could prevent my reunion with the only person who gives my life meaning. The only person that I love. And I would've let bygones be bygones.” There was a brief pause before Fisk resumed speaking, his voice now laced with a very restrained and controlled rage, “But you didn't just threaten me. _You threatened Vanessa!_ And that is something that I cannot forgive.”

 _And you said to me that you would go after the people who matter most to me. My best friend and law partner. The woman that I love. You didn't just threaten me. You threatened Karen and Foggy. And I cannot forgive that either._ “Listen to me very carefully-“ Matt started to say, but there was a click as Fisk abruptly hung up.

 _Oh no._ Matt’s heart was running a million miles an hour. _Shit! Shit!_ _I have to get out of here! I have to warn Karen! And Foggy! I’m compromised!  
_

He set the receiver back in its cradle, and heard a loud BUZZ as the door to the room was abruptly unlocked. It didn’t take a _summa cum laude_ degree for Matt to realize that the guards had unlocked the door so that the inmates working for Fisk could come in and shank Matt before he got to the exit.

Steeling his nerves, Matt exited the room and re-entered the prison corridor. He immediately found another inmate approaching from around a corner. Matt recognized his heartbeat and scent. This was one of the inmates who had been lined up against the wall when he was being led to the exam room.  _Clearly those guards had been moving them so they'd be in position to attack me when they got the signal._ There were two other inmates approaching Matt from the hallway to his right. All three of them cracked their knuckles, braced for a fight.

The inmate ahead of Matt launched his attack, swinging at his head. Matt ducked, avoiding his punch, then hooked him in the side of his face. Before this inmate had a chance to recover, Matt slammed his head against the wall, knocking him down, stunned.

The two inmates to Matt’s three o’clock now launched their attack. He ducked to avoid the second attacker’s first punch, and delivered a body blow to the third attacker. He then grabbed the second attacker by his wrist and twisted his arm, taking him to the ground. He began punching the defenseless inmate repeatedly, until he was suddenly grabbed by the first inmate. The inmate pulled Matt off his comrade and shoved him up against a wall, pinning him by the throat with his right hand. With Matt restrained, he punched the defenseless blind man with his left hand. As Matt struggled, a fourth inmate joined the struggle and tag-teamed him with the first inmate. Gaining a second wind, Matt kneed the first inmate, knocking him down. He then grabbed the remaining inmate and twisted his arm, sending him to the floor as well. As the inmate struggled, Matt gave him a swift uppercut to the head to knock him out.

Matt took several moments to catch his breath. _I hope this isn’t the last of them._ It took him a few moments to realize that one of the earlier inmates had gotten back on his feet. He didn’t realize that until the inmate suddenly punched him with his left hand. The other inmates in the corridor regained their footing and rejoined the melee. It was overwhelming for Matt, trying to take on opponents attacking him from all angles, and two of them were able to lift him off the ground and slam his head against a metal door adjacent to the exam room.

Matt groaned in pain, his head feeling woozy. He was overwhelmed with the smell of blood. It took a second for him to realize that it was his own blood, coming from a nasty cut that had opened on the left side of his forehead as well as from his mouth. As he got to his feet, he was suddenly attacked by two more inmates. _That’s dirty, fighting a man while he’s down,_ Matt processed as the inmates delivered a flurry of kicks and punches at him. Eventually, Matt was able to stand up enough to ram his head against one of their chests like a raging bull. The inmate struggled and managed to flip Matt through the air. He landed on his back, now back inside the exam room. This had taken its toll on the attacker, enough that Matt was able to quickly punch him out before his comrade staggered to his feet and entered the room. The new inmate grabbed Matt, slammed him against the wall on his side, and punched him again in the side of the head. Matt fought back, hitting the guy in his groin with his left fist, doubling him over. As the inmate doubled over, Matt delivered a knockout blow with his other fist. The bearded inmate who had started the fight re-entered the room, grabbed Matt in a bear hug and threw him onto the exam bed. Matt threw him off, and as the inmate staggered away, dizzied from the repeat blows to the head, Matt tried to crawl away. The inmate recovered, though, and kicked Matt in the stomach, causing him to roll over on his back.

Matt sensed that the syringe the nurse had tried to inject him with was just a few inches away. And as the inmate prepared to punch him again, Matt grabbed the syringe and stuck it in the upper part of this inmate's leg. He took advantage of the man screaming in pain to pull him to the ground and slam his head against the tiled floor. The second inmate in the room now took another turn to fight Matt, having gotten behind the exam bed while Matt was dealing with his friend. Matt ripped the paper off the bed and threw it in his face. He then charged the man, pinning him against the window, punched him, then threw him back over the bed. A third inmate launched another attack. Matt leaped over the bed and kicked him in the family jewels, sending him backwards into a supply cabinet. He then hit his head on the floor with a loud thud.

Matt sensed the inmate he’d stabbed regaining his footing, and before the man could strike, slammed his head against the bed, knocking him out. He barely had time to catch his breath when one of the other inmates regained consciousness and attacked him from behind, pinning him against the bed. The man turned Matt around and tried strangling him with his right hand. Matt grabbed the man by his other arm, and roughly twisted it. He heard a satisfying crunch as the man’s arm was dislocated. One of the other inmates regained consciousness, Matt couldn’t tell which one it was, but Matt put him down by shoving the bed with his feet. The bed rotated, striking said inmate in the head.

All of the inmates were down and unconscious. Matt felt very much out of breath. With the adrenaline fading from him, he could feel his own injuries all over. Karen wasn’t going to be pleased.

 _I gotta get out of here before more inmates appear._ Matt slowly rose to his feet, groggy from the fight and the blood loss. He tore a piece of paper from the bed and used it to wipe the blood off his mouth. He staggered out of the room, hoping there would be a guard or someone who would see him. His senses were acting up, so he had to feel the wall with his right hand to know where he was going.

“Come here! Come here!” One of the inmates in a nearby cell reached through the bars and tried to grab at Matt as he passed by.  “Let me outta here. Where you going? Hey, come back! Hey, come back, man!”

Matt opened the door and walked out, ignoring the inmate’s pleas. He had barely made it ten feet into the next cell block when a pair of guards appeared in front of him. Both of them were carrying nightsticks, pepper spray, and riot shields.

“ON THE GROUND!” one of them shouted.

“Hold on!” Matt held up his hands, staggering forward, “I was attacked!”

“Get on the ground now!” The guards either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.

Matt slowly got down on his knees. “I was attacked, I need help!”

“Put your hands behind your head!”

“Okay,” Matt whispered. He did as instructed and put his hands behind his head.

The two guards began walking towards Matt.

“All right, boss, we got him,” one of them said into his radio, “We'll take care of him.” That was the only warning Matt had to tell him that these guards were not here to save him, but had ordered by Fisk to kill him.

The two guards brandished their nightsticks, preparing to beat Matt. Matt got up and charged them. After a struggle, they managed to throw Matt on his back, and started to beat him senselessly. Their beating was so vicious that it took awhile for Matt to reorient himself enough to figure out where they were. He eventually kicked one of them in the groin, shoving him backwards. The other one grabbed Matt’s arm as he rose to his feet, but Matt quickly took him to the floor, and began wrestling with him. The guard that Matt had kneed in the groin rejoined the fight, but Matt quickly disarmed him of his baton and used it to beat his partner unconscious.

“Hey nice job, homes,” one of the inmates in the nearby cell said, in admiration, “Grab his keys, quick.”

As Matt attempted to catch his breath, the air was suddenly filled with the ear-piercing wail of the prison alarms. Matt clapped his hands over his ears, disoriented by the noise. He tried to construct a map of the prison’s maze using his enhanced senses, but it was difficult to get a read.  The noise was that deafening, especially to someone with Matt’s sharpened hearing.

“Code 33, code 33,” a monotonous voice declared over the PA system, “Lockdown is now in effect.”

 _That’s the radio code for “there’s a riot, everyone on deck”._ Matt slowly made his way down the corridor, feeling the wall with his right hand. After a few moments, he suddenly felt a warm source of heat behind him as one of the inmates in the cells suddenly threw a lit Molotov cocktail into the corridor, trying to set one of the fallen guards on fire.

“LIGHT IT UP, VIC!” he heard someone shout.

Matt had to hide his smile as he realized he’d found his way to the cell block where Vic Jusufi, his original target, was located.

_“Code 33, code 33. Lockdown is now in effect. Code 33, code 33. Lockdown is now in effect."_

Focusing on his original mission, Matt continued making progress down the corridor, as another Molotov cocktail was tossed out of a cell behind him. Just as Matt was passing a fork in the corridor, he realized that the door to his right was unlocked. Between the burning Molotov cocktails behind him, and the sounds of the prison alarms, he was having to process so much sensory information that he didn’t anticipate the burly inmate that emerged from his right and grabbed him, dragging him into the cell. Given the chatter he’d just heard seconds ago, Matt figured this was one of the Albanians, and probably was taking him straight to Vic. This guy was huge, and strong, much more than the group of inmates Matt had just fought off in the exam room. Matt struggled halfheartedly against this Albanian, who dragged him through a passage into a room that Matt took to be a breakroom, occupied by two other men. Before Matt could process the room, the Albanian had lifted him to his feet, grabbed him by his shirt collar, and pinned his head against the wall.

Matt sensed that this guy was likely intent on killing him, and presumed that he had been sent by Fisk. So he had to quickly talk some sense into him. _Remind him what Fisk does to loose ends,_ he imagined Karen's voice saying to him.

“Fisk betrays everyone!” he shouted. “He will turn on you!” He felt something metallic as the inmate suddenly held a boxcutter to his throat with his other hand. “Fisk will turn on you, too! Ah!” He winced as he felt the boxcutter slicing into his outer layer of flesh. Not deep enough to draw blood, but still deep enough to cause pain.

“Who are you?” said the other inmate in the room. This one was lean, muscular, and had a strong Albanian accent. “And why does Fisk want you dead?”

The man said something to his colleague in what Matt took to be Albanian. Matt couldn’t tell what it was, but he figured it was something along the lines of, “Don’t kill him yet. Let’s find out what this man wants.”

“Hey, wait,” Matt spoke quickly, “What is that? Albanian?!” Then it hit him: this inmate must be Vic Jusufi.  _My person of interest._ “Are you Vic?”

“You're an idiot coming here,” Vic said, bluntly, “Fisk still controls half the guards and prisoners.”

 _I was smart enough to take that into account when I came here._ “Yeah, but not--not the Albanians,” Matt stammered. “Not since…since Fisk ratted your people out to the FBI.” _Now please tell your thug here to let me go._ He breathed a sigh of relief as Vic put his hand on the muscular inmate’s shoulder, gesturing to him to let Matt down.

Matt gasped and slid to the ground, finally relieved to breathe again.

“What's it to you?” Vic asked as Matt slowly turned around, panting.

“Fisk hates me as much as he hates you people,” Matt explained. His voice sounded hoarse from the repeat blows he’d taken.  “I helped get him locked up. And I'm gonna do it again.”

“Nah, I think you're gonna die in here,” Vic said, clicking his tongue.

 _Karen will kill you if you do that._ Still panting and sweating profusely, Matt turned around to face Vic, who was looming over him.

“Why did Fisk flip on your people?” he finally asked.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It matters enough that you're desperate to kill him,” Matt said, “You missed him in here, and then you tried again on the outside.”

“That is a very serious allegation,” Vic said, “And wrong. We never tried to hit him. In here.”

 _I suspected that much already. Whoever Fisk paid to shank him can't have been allied with his enemy_. Matt had learned that that was one of the easiest ways to get necessary information out of people: pretend he knew less than he actually knew, or say something that he suspected or knew was false, so that his subject would correct him and tell him what he needed. Like, in this case, lead him to the inmate who did the stabbing.

“Fisk was shanked in the weight room,” Matt said.

“Not by us,” Vic replied.

“Oh, yeah? If not you, then who?” Matt asked. He slowly stood up, using the wall to stabilize himself as he rose to his feet. Figuring he only had seconds to act, he decided that maybe he could negotiate a quid pro quo with these guys. After all, he was a lawyer. They negotiated deals.

“Listen,” he said, in a lower voice, “If I succeed, Fisk ends up right back here with you and your men. And after that, you can do with him whatever you please.”

Vic looked at Matt, then at the other inmates in the room with him. Matt silently prayed that Vic would believe him and give him the name of whoever shanked Fisk, and wasn’t deciding to have him killed. To his relief, Vic turned back to face him.

“Fisk shanked Fisk,” Vic said, “He bribed some lifer to stab him.”

 _A false flag operation. Right. Fisk is a master at those._ Matt still very much remembered that Fisk had gotten the Russians distracted in the days before the bombings by blaming him for Anatoly’s death. It had been no big leap of logic to assume that Fisk would do something like arrange his own shanking and pin it on someone else. To be proven right, that was even better.

“He set the whole thing up?” Matt asked, voice trembling.

“The guy sliced him up just good enough to convince the feds,” Vic explained.

“Of course,” Matt whispered. His brain was racing, wondering who the inmate was and where he was being held. Assuming Fisk hadn’t killed him afterwards to make sure he couldn’t talk, just like he’d done with both of Karen's would-be killers and many other associates like the Russians, like Healy, like Owlsley. If he was alive, Matt could get the guy to go on record with Karen and reveal what Fisk had paid him to do. “This guy, he's a lifer?" Vic nodded. "If he was bribed, does that mean he's still alive?”

“Better than alive. Free.”

That made absolutely no sense. _How could someone be let out of prison just for shanking Wilson Fisk?_

“Free?” He laughed incredulously. He wanted to say Vic was bullshitting him, but Vic’s heartrate hadn’t changed. He wasn’t lying. Vic had no reason to lie under these circumstances. “How is he not in solitary?”

“Fisk got someone to cook the books and let him out,” Vic replied, matter-of-factly. Matt could hear the condescending " _You should know already"_ in the subtext of Vic’s voice.

 _So there’s someone out there who should be in prison but isn’t, thanks to Fisk,_ Matt thought, processing this news. And if he was a lifer, he probably had a file with the NYPD. Brett would be the best person to go to for that sort of information. He made a mental note that as soon as he got out of here, he would go grab Karen from the _Bulletin_ and they’d ask Brett for information about this lifer.

He was interrupted from his thoughts as he heard distant yelling and realized that there were more guards coming, probably ones working for Fisk. They were undoubtedly tearing the prison apart looking for him so they could finish what the paid inmates and the first two guards had failed to complete.

“Okay, there are guards coming,” he said to Vic, “Give me the lifer's name. He's the only proof we have that Fisk set this whole thing up.”

“So what?” Vic scoffed.

“So if I can get to him, I can-“

“You can barely get to your feet,” Vic stated. That much was true. Matt hadn’t fought that hard since, well, the one-on-one fight he’d had with Elektra under Midland Circle. Kazemi's attackers and the FBI agents at the Presidential's parking garage had been a challenge, but at least they hadn't been anticipating Matt. These inmates and guards sent to attack him, on the other hand, they'd anticipated him coming, and they were being paid to kill him.

“Vic, please,” Matt pleaded, leaning back against the wall. “You took a shot at Fisk, and you missed. I won't. Not if you can get me out of here.”

A dead silence fell as Vic contemplated whether to help Matt or not. Although he usually frowned upon helping perceived enemies, Matt had made a compelling argument that Fisk needed to pay for what he’d done.

He turned to his lieutenant. “Drag that guard in here.”

Vic’s lieutenant nodded and exited the room. He returned a moment later with another inmate, dragging the body of one of the guards that Matt had beaten unconscious in the corridor just minutes earlier. As Matt and Vic stared down one another, Vic’s lieutenants stripped the guard of his uniform and weapons. The shorter of the two proceeded to don the uniform on top of his own orange jumpsuit. Matt got the nonverbal message; Vic’s man was disguising himself to get him out. In a situation like what was unfolding, no one would really notice.

“Blood was lost during the motorcade attack,” Vic said, turning back to Matt, “My baby cousin's blood. Find the inmate who shanked Fisk. Make good on your word. Or we'll come find ya.”

 _Yeah, I won’t fail you, Vic. Karen and I will use your information to its full potential._ “His name?” Matt asked. _I can't pursue him without a name_.

“Jasper Evans.” Vic turned to the associate of his who had changed into the guard’s uniform. “Get him outta here.”

The fake “guard” put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and began guiding him towards another door.

“Wait, hold on a second,” Matt held up his hand. Now with everything he needed, he was able to focus on the immediate task of guiding Vic’s man through the twisted corridors while avoiding the guards trying to kill him.

“There's two guards,” Matt said. They stopped, and Matt listened until he was certain that the guards were walking away. “Okay. NOW!”

The inmate who had just been holding a boxcutter to Matt’s throat a few moments earlier threw the door open, allowing his comrade and Matt out.

“This way!” Matt began steering his escort to the right. The inmate tugged his arm forcefully, trying to drag him the other way.

“No, there’s an exit this way!”

Matt shook his head. “There are two guards! Trust me, please!” He could tell that the inmate was skeptical as to how Matt could know that. But now was not the time for Matt to start explaining his heightened senses.

His escort quickly acceded and let Matt guide him down the hallway.  They eventually made it to another door, which led to a changing room.

“We need to go through this door on the left here,” Matt said.

“It's locked!” his escort protested.

“There's a key in your top left pocket.” Matt had sensed the jiggling of the metal in the keychain when the inmate had been donning the uniform.

Vic’s escort didn’t question Matt, and quickly grabbed the keyring. As he fumbled and tested each key, Matt leaned against the side wall, wiping blood off his face. He prayed his escort would get to the right key in time, as he could detect another gaggle of guards coming. Sure enough, they appeared just as Matt’s escort found the right key.

“There he is! Move! Now!”

“Get him!”

“Go!” The escort unlocked the door. Matt was too late to stop the guards from catching him. He quickly elbowed one of their riot shields, knocking said guard backwards into his colleagues, who fell like dominoes. His escort quickly slammed the door shut and locked it before any of the other guards could get in.

Matt stumbled a bit as his escort unlocked the door on the other side of the room, and they exited into another corridor. He turned right, only to find another guard being subdued by one of Vic’s men.

“The other way,” Matt said, “The other way.”

He and the escort turned around and made it to the door at that end. Behind it was the day room, with several chairs and TVs. Matt had to take a breather as his escort unlocked the door.

“Inmate! On your knees!” Matt heard a real guard shouting.

Matt knew he had a matter of seconds to spare, so he struck the guard standing by the door, and launched an attack on the inmate closest to him, punching him in the chin repeatedly. Matt staggered, and the fake guard pounced on this attacker, crashing through the ping pong table. He began straddle punching this inmate until he was bleeding from the mouth.

The rest of the day room was in chaos, with other inmates brawling with several more guards. It was hard for Matt to tell who may have been working for Fisk and who wasn’t. He decided they all were, and that this riot was a false flag operation that had been started as a cover for his assassination. Matt’s escort grabbed Matt and got him to a door on the opposite side of the room as two inmates stabbed a real guard to death with their shivs. He unlocked the door and they hurried into the next corridor, where a real guard was beating up two inmates. Whether the inmates or the guard were Fisk’s people, Matt didn’t know and didn't care. His escort was about to unlock the next door when the atmosphere was rocked by an explosion on the opposite side of the door.

Thinking on his feet, the escort dragged Matt into another corridor. Matt’s eyes widened as he was overwhelmed with the smell of tear gas. The guards had released it in an effort to incapacitate the inmates.

“I can't see!” his escort started to say.

“Left, left!” Matt said, guiding him through the smoke.  “Now take a right. Sharp right.”

They passed through another door and were now in the visitor’s room.

“I got a civilian here! Get him out!” his escort yelled to the real guards. Under the right circumstances, they’d notice that this guard was speaking with the wrong accent and was an imposter, but in the heat of battle, they were too preoccupied with their own self-preservation to notice. “Go!”

“Let’s go, get him out!” the real guards shouted. “Go! Go!”

The guards got Matt out into the courtyard, where their colleagues were fighting several more inmates. One of them had already been shanked. All of this was drowned out by the ear-piercing wail of the prison’s sirens.

“Open the gate! OPEN THE GATE!” one of the guards screamed to his colleagues in the tower. There was an audible buzz as the gate opened in front of Matt, and he sprinted through the narrow opening to freedom.

Matt felt his eyes stinging from the tear gas, but he had to press on. He wouldn’t be safe until he got to Karen. _Karen!_ She needed to know right away that Matt’s identity had been compromised. There was no way that Matt could guarantee he could protect her now that Fisk had a big piece of ammo to use against them.

He limped over to one last door, which led to where his cab was waiting. With his last ounce of strength, he opened the door, crawled into the cab and shut the door behind him.

“Take me to the _New York Bulletin_!” he shouted.

The last thing Matt felt before passing out was the sound of the driver flooring on the gas pedal and racing away from the prison. The last thought on his mind was, _how long until I can get to Karen?_

* * *

Matt didn’t come around until about 40 minutes later, according to his internal clock. He stirred, groggily, and tried to reorient himself with his surroundings. He was in the Toyota Camera taxicab that he’d fled the prison in. The smell of the cab’s worn out polyester was overwhelming. It then occurred to Matt that something was not right about this. The cab was traveling unusually fast, which was strange given the heavy traffic Matt knew he’d faced when he was riding out to the prison.

“Where are we?” He slurred. His body was still only half-awake. “Where, uh …” Something wasn’t right. Not only was the cab traveling unusually fast, but Matt could smell saltwater through the windows. They were nowhere near the _Bulletin_ offices. “Hey,” he said, pushing himself upright with his hands. He felt adrenaline surging through his veins in his panicked state. “Hey, hold up, stop the car!” he requested.

“No problem. We’ll get you there.”

As soon as the driver opened his mouth, Matt’s eyes widened. Now he realized exactly what was wrong. This was not the driver who had driven him to the prison. This was someone completely different. _Wait…_ he picked up a familiar scent of cleaning solution. This was the man with the missing finger that he'd encountered at the drycleaning place the other day, when he was hunting the Kazemis' assailants.

“Who are you?” Matt asked.

The driver didn’t say anything else. He suddenly opened the door, amplifying the saltwater smell that Matt had just registered. Before Matt could react, the driver suddenly unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the moving cab. Matt’s sightless eyes widened in shock. He was in a driverless cab, hurtling towards the Hudson at over 50 mph.

“Hey! Hey!” Matt quickly felt for the doorknobs and tried to pull on them. Both of them were locked. He was trapped. “No, no, no!” Matt began hyperventilating. “No.” He made another valiant effort to open the doors, which did absolutely nothing. He could tell that the speeding and driverless car was getting closer and closer to the river.

Using what little remaining strength he had, Matt leaned back against the right side door, and tried kicking out the opposite door. Unfortunately, it was too late. The cab hit the guardrail at speed, and was launched into the air. A few seconds later, the cab hit the water, deforming on impact.

The impact instantly shattered the windows and the windshield. Matt felt a stinging sensation from the glass shards that sliced across his face, but he couldn’t care less about that. The pressing issue on his mind was that the cab was taking on water. _Okay, Matt, focus. Focus. Breathe._ He forced himself to inhale and exhale deeply, trying to cook up an escape plan on the fly. He hated being underwater. He hated how it threw off his senses, especially when they weren’t at 100%.

He tried again to open the passenger side door, but it wouldn’t budge. There was too much water pressure from outside. He ran his hands over one of the door panels, hoping this was one of those vehicles where the windows could be manually cranked open, but it wasn’t.

 _Karen!_ Matt thought. _Think of Karen._ Perhaps thinking of an object of desire would give him the strength and determination he needed to break the window. He was supposed to be on his way to the _Bulletin_ to see Karen and warn her about what had happened. He braced himself within the tight confines of the sinking cab, and resumed kicking at the window relentlessly. Eventually, the window shattered, to Matt’s relief, which lasted all of two seconds. This relief was quickly replaced by an immediate fear of drowning as a large wall of water filled the cab. Matt slowly wriggled his way out through the shattered hole in the window, and with a bout of adrenaline surging through him, he began swimming towards the surface. Soon enough, his head breached the surface of the water like a surfacing dolphin, and he gasped, relieved to be breathing fresh air.

 _Oh thank God,_ Matt thought. He flailed his arms around, eventually focusing enough to pick up the sounds of traffic in the distance, which gave him a guiding point to find his way back to shore.

It was slow going, thanks to the barrage of injuries he’d sustained during the riot, but eventually, his hand brushed against the wooden columns of a pier. With his every ounce of strength, he was able to haul himself out of the river and onto the dock, before rolling over on his back and collapsing.

He lay there in the cold weather, staring up at the sky with his sightless eyes, and the only sounds he could hear were seagulls and his own breathing as his lungs desperately grabbed for air.  He could feel blood trickling from the cut on his face he’d sustained in the riot.

 _Get up, Matt._ He heard Karen’s voice calling out to him. _You’re not going to be able to protect me lying in the sun like that all day._ Matt groaned and forced himself to move. With one hand by his side, he pushed himself upright, letting out an agonized moan. He had to resist the urge to lie back down and rest, letting his rage and his fear drive him. Groaning, Matt slowly walked down the pier, making his way towards the streets. Making it back to what he took to be the West Side Highway, he briefly debated whether to go straight to the _Bulletin_ or stop at his apartment. He decided that going straight to the _Bulletin_ was too risky. He didn’t want to risk the suspicious looks that Karen’s coworkers would give him if he came into their offices sopping wet and bleeding from several severe cuts. _Better to go home and change clothes._

The walk home was torture. He still couldn’t stop shivering. In fact, as he navigated the streets, he had to take a few stops just to be sure he was still traveling in the direction of his building. Every muscle in his body ached like it had pierced by a thousand knives. By the time Matt made it into his apartment,  he was really out of it and had to feel along the walls to find his way. But he eventually found his way to the shower, stripped off his clothes, and turned on the water. The hot water was relaxing, soothing his muscles, and washing away any blood that remained. As he changed into dry clothes, he let his mind process everything he’d learned during the past few hours. 

The good news was that he had found a lead about Fisk’s manipulation of the FBI: he had paid a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him, and also rewarded Evans for his work by arranging for him to be released from prison that same day, and had paid his guards to cook the books. All he and Karen had to do was now hunt down Jasper Evans, maybe put him on record with the _Bulletin,_ and that would be enough to get the FBI to send Fisk back to the prison where he belonged.

But that was overshadowed by the bad news: Fisk had figured out that Matt was capable of things he shouldn't be capable of. He now had several minutes of footage of Matt doing things a blind man shouldn’t be capable of doing. It was just a few minutes, but it was enough that Fisk would be able to compare it to other footage of Daredevil in action, plus their two previous fights, and make a connection between his two identities. And Matt knew that said footage was out there; Foggy had once told him that a surveillance camera recorded him beating up the corrupt cops who tried to kill him and Vladimir right after the bombings, and it had been played all over the news.

This terrified Matt, as he had a pretty good idea of what Fisk would do once he found out his enemy had survived the drowning. Fisk had enough influence that he was able to orchestrate a riot to break out at a moment’s notice when Matt showed up at the prison. With what he now knew about his enemy, he could have Matt arrested, disbarred, destroy his entire life, with just a few phone calls. He could use this newfound knowledge to ruin Foggy and Marci’s lives. They had everything to lose. There was no way the police or the Bar would think they hadn’t known about Matt’s double life this whole time. And Marci, she wasn’t a saint either. Matt knew she’d been caught up in the illegal activities that Fisk had done with Landman & Zack, and he could easily use those as well against her, even if the Bar Association had forgiven her. There were a lot of people whose careers and livelihoods were at stake now because of him. This further steeled his resolve to go warn Karen. She and Foggy had to know about what had happened at the prison so they’d be prepared for when Fisk inevitably made any moves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--I always imagined that Fisk knew Matt was at the prison from the moment he approached that guard at the front desk.
> 
> \--Someone had to alert Fisk to Matt's arrival. Felix Manning was the only intermediary that made sense, since we saw that Fisk was observing Matt from his secret war room in the Presidential Hotel.
> 
> \--I considered having Matt use an alias name when approaching the guard, just like how he pretends to be Foggy in the actual story, but decided since he already suspects Fisk has people in the FBI who have told him about Matt and Karen's chat with Hattley that it would make more sense for him to just go as himself (since Fisk knows his enemy). It made me struggle as to what Fisk would say instead when Matt picks up the phone. Instead of "You're not Franklin Nelson," I originally just had him say Matt's full name. But the more I thought about it, it just didn't sound...right, so I later revised it to something more akin to the sorts of lines Fisk is whispering into Dex's ear.
> 
> \--I've significantly compressed the time period of Matt's cab ride after the prison riot. In the show, the riot starts around 11:00 am (according to the clock in the exam room), Matt is out of there by 11:15, gets into the cab, and passes out. When he regains consciousness and finds that Fisk has switched out his cab driver, it's already nightfall, meaning at least six hours minimum have passed. As you can see here, I've shortened Matt's cab ride to a little under an hour, meaning that his fateful plunge into the Hudson happens around Noon. This is so Matt can do other things the rest of the day. Aside from one small deviation with Matt actually catching the nurse's needle a moment earlier (avoiding being drugged), the entire single-take fight scene is unchanged.
> 
> \--I changed the cab that drove Matt into the water to reflect real-life. For the show, they put him in a checkered cab to replicate that panel from "Born Again". But in real life, checkered cabs were retired in the 1990s. So as a result, I have the cab here be a Toyota Sienna minivan.
> 
> \--Michael didn't have a last name that was given onscreen. 'Kemp' is the last name given to him in the credits for that episode.


	9. Secrets and Speeches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt debriefs Karen on his prison visit. Meanwhile, Fisk puts his plans for Dex into motion. Foggy takes the first steps towards mounting his District Attorney campaign.

_**New York Bulletin** _ **offices:**

Karen's morning, in contrast to Matt's, was much less dramatic. She took the N train to the _Bulletin_ offices, intending to trace Fisk’s money trail. Like she and Matt had discussed, Donovan probably wasn’t the one who managed Fisk’s cash. He probably had someone else handling his finances in light of Owlsley’s death. It was going to be a long morning of sorting through boring financial statements to find the new money man. But as Ben had told Karen when she'd first investigated Union Allied, the boring stuff was often what had the most long-term payoff. Going after mid-level guys would only get mid-level enforcers that Fisk could easily replace. But following money? When one went down that rabbit hole, it was almost impossible to find where the trail would stop. And besides, this was something Karen was way too used to doing. It had been how she uncovered the skimming going on with the Union Allied pension, the whole incident that had been responsible for her getting tangled up with Fisk, and subsequently meeting Matt and Foggy. And it was how she'd found Carl Hoffman's hideout. If there was any one thing Fisk couldn't suck into a black hole, it would be large sums of money.  

Before going to her office, she made a stop at Ellison’s office, which was two doors down from hers, and furnished almost identically, making it almost a mirror image of her office (with the desk on the right and the couch on the left here, the reverse of her office). Karen figured she needed to apologize to Ellison for her little outburst the night before and explain why, ethics be damned, she had to be the one covering Fisk. She also felt that it might be of benefit to Foggy's District Attorney campaign if he got some press coverage in the _Bulletin,_ if his write-in candidacy was at this infant stage to stand any chance against Blake Tower’s firmly established campaign.

To her luck, when she arrived, Ellison was sitting at his desk and had his laptop open. He was reviewing a story that Robbie Robertson at the city desk had been working on about how Williamsburg would be affected by next year's impending shut down of the 14th Street Tunnel, which would greatly snarl subway service in Brooklyn and Queens for over a year as the L train was taken out of service to repair damage from Hurricane Sandy.

"Come in."

“Sorry to bother you, but do you have a moment?” Karen asked, walking in.

“If you’re here to ask me to change my decision about letting you cover Fisk, the answer is no,” he said, not looking up from his laptop.

“I’m not going to back off on pursuing Fisk,” Karen replied. She closed the door behind her and sat down in a chair across from Ellison’s desk. “I mean it. I got better insight into Fisk does and what he’s capable of.”

Ellison looked at her and took a deep breath.

“Look, Karen,” he said, massaging his bald dome, “You’re a very talented reporter. Okay? I can see why Ben thought you were a natural. But…you’ve gotten yourself into trouble more times than I want to count. And...when you make decisions like that, they reflect badly on this paper.”

Karen scoffed, knowing Ellison was referring to all of her previous brushes with death. “I know,” she said, quietly, “I was out of line last night, yelling at you, I’m sorry. But…Ben was like a second father to me. In fact, I'd say he’d probably be a better father than my actual dad. If he was still here, he’d want me investigating Fisk.”

Ellison took off his glasses and fidgeted with them in his hands. “I’d rather not see you follow him to an early grave,” he said, lowering his voice. “I mean it. Ben was a real pain in my ass, yes, but that was what made him a great journalist. He was good at pushing for stories he knew were important for public interests. He was likable, non-threatening, and courteous to everyone he met. He could get people to open up to him about things they wouldn’t normally say to him, things they sure as shit wouldn’t say to me, without realizing they’re doing it. How else do you think he exposed those scandals with the Teacher’s Union and Kelco Chemicals?”

“I know,” she murmured, “He told me about that. The Teacher's Union. The toxic runoff. All of that.”

“And you, Karen, you have that same passion,” Ellison continued, “So does everyone else at the staff who owes their careers to Ben. But I think every editor at this paper, and at every other paper in the city, would prefer that you be reporting the news, rather than _be_ the news. Ever since Lewis Wilson, I can’t shake this feeling every time you go out there that one day will be that day that you don’t return to the office alive, and I get a call from the NYPD asking me to come down to the morgue and identify you.”

“I get it,” Karen nodded slowly, “I have a friend who’s just like that. He’s involved in a dangerous line of work, much more dangerous than this. There was an incident that happened to him a while ago that made him realize you have to just accept that fear, rather than run from it.” She took a deep breath. _Don't suppose Matt's toils are appropriate for this situation, but okay._ “Though with the arrest of Caldwell, I can understand it if you’re afraid that Fisk might have a spy or two in the office.”

“That too,” he said, “Caldwell may not have been the only reporter out in that newsroom that was getting paid off by Fisk. For all we know, he could have someone who got overlooked.”

Karen nodded. With Fisk’s unlimited resources, it wouldn’t be strange if he had a few guys tailing her, though she was also sure Matt would’ve picked up on that by now if that was the case. “Have you vetted everyone on the staff?” she asked.

“That’s gonna take a few days,” he said, glancing from Karen to the door and back. Karen stared at him. “Look, if you’re going to investigate Fisk, you should be smart about this. Keep as little of your work as possible in your office. Make sure it’s kept somewhere safe and secure where only you can access it. You get what I’m saying?”

Karen smiled, relieved that she had finally gotten Ellison into her corner, and this time, he was genuine. “You got it boss,” she answered, enthusiastically.

She got up from the chair and began striding towards the door. As she got to the threshold, she stopped, remembering she had wanted to pitch the story about Foggy's campaign.

“Oh! I almost forgot! There was one more thing I wanted to tell you.” She snapped her fingers and spun around to face Ellison."It's, uh, it's about my former bosses at Nelson & Murdock."

“The ones who repped Hoffman and exposed all of Fisk's other crimes,” Ellison said, putting his glasses back on.

"Well you're gonna want to stop the presses when you hear this," she said, "Foggy Nelson is running for District Attorney." 

Ellison scratched his beard. "You're sure of this?" 

“Matt contacted me last night and said Foggy’s doing it to keep the public attuned to the injustice that is Fisk being back on the streets.” She deliberately chose not to mention that she had moved into Matt’s apartment, or that they were living together, as that little detail would represent a  different conflict of interest.

“Really?” Ellison asked, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Karen said. “Of course, it’s a conflict of interest for me to interview someone I used to have a professional relationship with. So uh, can you pass this along to the election team as soon as you can?”

“I’ll put Glori and Simon on it as soon as they get in,” Ellison answered.

“Thanks, Ellison.” _You're a life saver._  "And if it's at all possible, make sure he's on the front page tomorrow morning. I want everyone in New York to know that he means business."

To start her investigation, Karen went back to the list of companies she’d compiled the previous night that had used Donovan to apply for business charters in the United States. She decided to start with Vancorp, the shell company Fisk had used to buy the Presidential hotel from Kazemi, suspecting that he was using it as the final destination for his money. Using Vancorp’s name, she ran the phone book, calling up all the big banks in Manhattan to see if they remembered anyone opening an account in the name of that company, to no avail. Not a single bank had ever so much as heard of a company like Vancorp.

So Karen dove into the list she’d composited of shell companies that Donovan had filed business charter applications for. Working through the list, she eventually found a bank with a charter that had been filed by Donovan: Red Lion National Bank. They were a new bank that had only opened up a branch in the Financial District three years ago, around the same time Fisk was arrested. A Google search revealed that Red Lion had one other branch, located in the Caymans. _Shocker._ It didn’t take a journalist’s degree for Karen to conclude that this was another offshore firm.

On the pretense that she was looking into the Kazemi story, Karen got Jennifer to give her the name of a fraud investigator at the FDIC. She was given the number for one Tanya Mills. According to Mills, Red Lion Bank was under investigation by the FDIC on suspicion that the bank was being used as a safe haven for gangsters and crimelords to store their money; including a number of released and incarcerated mobsters in New York and New Jersey. She didn’t have much more at the moment, but said she'd have something for Karen by Friday.

While Karen waited for Matt to show up from his prison visit, she decided to go through the financial statements for the trail of shell companies she’d managed to connect to Fisk. What she found was that in the past six months, beginning around the same time Fisk bought the hotel from the Kazemis, at least a dozen of these companies were making thrice-weekly wire transfers to Vancorp, all in denominations of about $2 million each, using Red Lion as an intermediary. She also found that these shell companies had all previously been clients of Silver & Brent, Owlsley’s old firm.

By 12:30, she had managed to connect at least twelve companies to Red Lion, Vancorp, and to Fisk. She decided to call up the investigator to relay her new information.

“Tanya Mills, FDIC,” Tanya answered the phone.

“Hi,” Karen said.

“I told you, I’m still gathering information about the FDIC’s inv-”

“Yes,” Karen cut her off, “I know you said you couldn't meet until Friday morning, but I found something. I don't think it can wait till then.”

“This investigation is classified, we’re not supposed to talk publicly about them. Though I’d be happy to talk to you off the record.”

“Yes, absolutely. Off the record,” Karen replied, writing down Tanya’s address, which she’d gotten through directory assistance.

She looked up as she heard a knock at the door and Matt walked into the office. He quickly closed the door shut behind him. He looked winded, and Karen couldn’t help but notice he had a bandage over his left eye, suggesting things hadn’t gone well in his efforts to get information on the Albanians. But she wasn't able to immediately shift focus to that as Tanya spoke again.

“Honestly, though, I feel I’m probably not the best person you could talk about this with-“

“No, only somebody who works at the FDIC can help me,” Karen said, now eager to end the call so she could deal with Matt.

“All right, I can set something up.”

“You will? Thank you so much,” Karen replied, relieved.

“Tomorrow at the FDIC offices, at noon?”

Karen looked at her watch. “No…Yeah, tomorrow is perfect. Great. Thanks.”

She hung up the phone and got up from her chair.

“Hey,” she said, stepping around her desk, “I think I figured out how Fisk has been skirting the FBI asset freeze.” 

"We need to talk-” Matt tried to speak, but Karen spoke over him.

“He's been funneling his money through Vancorp, which is the shell corporation that owns the hotel, and he's keeping it in an offshore firm named Red Lion National Bank.”

“Karen-“

“That's the smoking gun! If it's not smoking, it's at least kinda warmish…”

“Karen, stop talking,” Matt ordered, his voice shaking slightly.

Karen paused and took a real look at Matt. With his glasses on, she instantly recognized the look on his face. It was the same one he had sported when he’d come by her office that night to move her to the precinct, when the Hand was targeting her.

"Holy shit, Matt, what happened?! Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tight with concern. Matt could feel her gaze traveling over him, from the bandaged cut on the side of his face down to the scrapes on his knuckles.

“Like I’ve been drowned in a cab,” he admitted. “But it’ll heal.”  

They faced each other in silence for a few moments. Eventually she said, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” he said. He groaned in discomfort as he slowly lowered himself onto the office couch. Karen handed him a bottle of water she kept by her chair and then sat down next to him. He took the bottle with a quiet “Thanks,” and downed half of it in one go.

“How’s Michael?” Karen asked, “He okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s fine,” Matt said, rubbing the spot on his cheek where Michael had punched him. “It’s better than it looks,” he added, sensing the concern in Karen’s heartbeat.

“And the Albanians? Did you get anything?”

Matt abruptly averted his face away from her. “Not good,” he said, shaking his head. “You were right about Fisk still having 100% control over the prison. And what's worse is, he knows I’m not entirely who I claim to be.”

“What are you saying? Does…” Then it hit her what Matt was talking about, without him having to say it: Fisk had figured out that he was Daredevil. Matt had hinted the previous day that he was afraid of what might happen if Fisk were to get his hands on that information. He could easily make a mess of Matt’s personal life, and if he were being particularly sadistic, he could also ruin Foggy and Karen by means of their associations with himt. What made it even worse was that he now had the FBI around his thumb, and maybe even had agents working for him. He could have them start combing through their lives with a fine toothed comb, looking for anything to use to bring them down. Thinking about it made all the blood drain from her face. “ _Fuck._ Are you saying that…Fisk knows who you are?! That you’re Daredevil?!”

Matt lowered his head sadly. “I think so. Yes.”

“Jesus Christ…” Karen buried her face in her hands. "Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! Fuck!" She started thinking through their options. There was no guidebook on what to do when your vigilante boyfriend told you that the violent and very connected crimelord you’re pursuing found out his secret identity. She settled on a pragmatic choice: get a full statement from Matt so she could get an idea of how much Fisk knew. That might be a deciding factor in how he might move against them.  “Okay. This is not good. So…"

"I know," Matt said, his voice a low whisper.

Karen quickly grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk and started writing. "Well tell me what happened."

He laughed softly. “What, we’re doing this like an interview?”

Karen scowled at him. “No! This is completely off the record. I just want to know how much Fisk knows about your other life. How much he knows might affect how we proceed from here.”

"Karen-"

"Start at the beginning," she said, exasperated, "Who did you speak to in the prison besides Michael?"

Matt laughed uneasily. “Well I talked to Michael. Tried to get him to grant me an entrance with Vic Jusufi. Vic had a guy watching him, to make sure that he didn’t squeal.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried to push him to talk…but he punched me, I guess to maintain his protection status.  I tried to leave, but the guard insisted I had to get checked out by the nurse for liability purposes, so I followed him to an exam room deep in the bowels of the prison.”

Karen paused. “That doesn’t sound like proper prison protocol.” She didn’t know much about prisons, but even a lawyer like Matt should not have been back there at all.

“Well, the nurse came in,” Matt answered, “He checked me out to see if I was concussed. There was a camera in the room. And it suddenly activated. A second later, the nurse took out this syringe and he tried to inject me…I think Fisk wanted me drugged so that his inmates would have an easy time shanking me.”

He felt Karen’s breath hitch. Matt had come so close to getting drugged and stabbed to death in a prison corridor. She couldn’t bear to think about how close Matt had come to dying again, so she focused back on the immediate task: finding out what Matt had learned from the Albanians.

“I subdued him before he could stick the needle in me,” he said, trying to reassure Karen. “I tried to get out, but the door was locked, and the mesh on the lone window in the room was secured very tightly, so I couldn’t get out that way.”

“He trapped you in there?”

Matt nodded. “He must have had this planned for months. Anyways, seconds later, the telephone in the room rang. I picked it up, and Fisk was on the other end.”

“Fisk called you himself?” she asked, a tone of disbelief. "It wasn't one of his men?"

“Yes,” he said.

“How did he do that? He’s under 24 hour video surveillance-“

“I don’t know how!” he exclaimed, “He has a way of remotely accessing security cameras.” He took another deep breath. "And he must have bribed his FBI guards to look the other way."

“What did Fisk say to you?”

“He told me that he was impressed by my quick reflexes,” he said. In a more somber voice, he added, “He also told me that for threatening Vanessa, he was going to kill me. Then he hung up. Then his guards unlocked the door to the room. So I left, and I was ambushed outside by a group of seven inmates who were working for him.”

“Holy shit…” Karen whispered, horrified. As if on autopilot, she took a hand and touched the bandage on Matt’s forehead. He flinched at the cool touch of her skin against the wound. “Did they do this to you?”

“Yeah, they slammed my head against a wall,” Matt said, chuckling. “Took some effort, but I managed to take them all out.”

“Was that it?”

“I hurried into the next wing over,” he resumed, “And I was accosted by a pair of guards. They were working for him. I took them out. Then I met Vic. He told me what I needed to know about Fisk’s shanking, and then he had one of his men steal a guard’s uniform to escort me out of the prison.” He paused. He was hesitant to tell Karen about what happened next, knowing she’d pause at how close he’d come once again to being killed.

“Jeez,” Karen whispered. “That’s gonna be on the news tonight.”

“Fisk owns the prison, Karen,” Matt said, shaking his head, “I bet the warden and the guards are gonna cover it up. They don’t want the headlines.”

“All right,” she conceded, “Well you got out alive, and that’s what counts-”

“It doesn’t end there,” he interrupted, “I got in the cab, intent on coming straight here to warn you. But Fisk had replaced my cab driver and I didn’t notice until—”

“How could you not notice that Fisk replaced your driver? With your heightened senses and all?”

“I passed out,” he replied, sheepishly, “So I didn’t know until I woke up almost 45 minutes later, and he just drove the cab into the Hudson. I got myself out and hurried home to change, and bandage myself. Then I came straight here.”

Karen smiled. “That’s great.” She put her arms around Matt and pulled him in for another hug. It was good that at least he was alive, and that was all that mattered. Even so, it didn’t erase the fact that Fisk now had dirt he could use to ruin all three of them. As soon as she pulled out of the hug, she asked him, “What are we going to do?”

Matt laced his fingers through Karen’s hand.

“Well, my visit wasn’t entirely a loss,” he admitted, “I found out with certainty that Fisk paid for his own shanking.”

Karen didn’t seem perturbed by the news. Then again, with Fisk, she had to assume every possibility. Just when she thought she’d seen the most depraved thing he could do, he’d proven her wrong and done something more. Paying a bunch of inmates to stage a riot to cover up the murder of a blind man who threatened his fiancee was right up there with his car-door decapitation of Anatoly. “Really?” she asked. "Who is it?"

“The Albanians' prison boss, Vic Jusufi, he told me," Matt said, exhaling as he remembered what he'd been told, "Fisk paid a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him, just enough to look convincing for the Feds to think he was being targeted for snitching."

 _That's great!_ Karen thought, realizing they now had the name of an associate who could be squeezed. "That's fantastic!" she said. "So, uh, did you happen to speak to Evans or not?”

Matt shook his head. “Well see, that’s where it gets rather interesting. According to Vic, Fisk cooked the books and had Evans quietly released from prison. So the books make it seem like Evans is still in solitary, when the reality is, he’s out there somewhere, Karen.”

“Well at least that’s progress,” Karen said, “We now know a potential witness who could bring in Fisk.”

“Assuming we can find him,” Matt said.

Karen bit her lip. “Yeah. Yeah that could work. We find Evans. Get him to go on record saying that Fisk paid him to shank him and arranged his release. We’ll have ironclad proof that Fisk manipulated the FBI and they’ll have no choice but to send him back to prison.”

“Well…” Matt trailed off like he expected Karen to finish the sentence.

“Well, what?”

“Who are we supposed to take this to? Fisk knows I was at the prison. He’s got the FBI around his thumb. We go waltzing into their offices, Evans won’t last more than a few days.”

An idea popped into Karen’s head. The FBI couldn’t be trusted. But the opposite could be said of the NYPD. In the NYPD, they actually had several allies they knew they could trust. Brett had stopped Fisk from escaping once, and he’d been of great help to them during the Punisher case. And he’d told them at the hotel that there was a task force at the 15th that was dedicated just to investigating Fisk-related crimes. “Maybe we should go to the cops.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “What, we take it to Brett?”

“He was talking at the hotel yesterday about there being a task force to investigate Fisk,” she said, hesitantly. “I’m sure his colleagues would love to have such a lead fall into their lap.”

Matt thought of Blake, Hoffman, the other cops in Fisk’s pocket. “Given what just happened to me, Fisk probably thinks that I’m dead. If we show up at the precinct, and he’s got cops there still working for him, they’ll find a way to tell him about this. I told you, he has ways of circumventing the FBI’s communication block.”

“Yes, but Evans is not supposed to be out of prison,” Karen insisted, “He can prove that Fisk is manipulating the FBI.”  
  
“True," Matt conceded. In the grand scheme of things, anything that could build a strong case against Fisk would help, big or small.  "Except he's just a periphery in Fisk's syndicate. He's just a soldier. He's not a capo or even an underboss."

"He might also give us the names of other inmates Fisk has paid," she suggested.

Matt sighed and rolled his shoulders. “I don't deny you are making valid arguments, Karen. But right now, we might consider following up with the Kazemi story. Brett said that Fisk's lawyers bailed out his attackers, and we know with certainty that Fisk was behind purchasing the hotel from Kazemi."

"They probably know less about Fisk than Evans does."

"They might tell us who Fisk's new underboss is," he elaborated, "They lead us to him, we find this new Wesley replacement, and we get him to give up Fisk.” 

There was a moment of silence as Karen considered their options. "What's to say we can't do both? Find Evans, and Kazemi's attackers, and Wesley 2.0?" she said. "Every lead we find on Fisk could help."

“It’s a thought,” Matt said, stroking his chin.

“We have the information,” Karen said. “Might not be enough for me to print something, but it might be enough to cost Fisk a couple of valuable allies.”

"Yeah," Matt agreed, "And if that doesn't turn out..." he remembered that Ben had noted in his files having an informant that had given him some important information about the Rigoletto crime family, one Silvio Manfredi. "...we might consider reaching out to people who knew Fisk back in his childhood. I'm sure there's a few retired mafiosos who remember the exact details of how he came to power."

* * *

**Penthouse Suite, Presidential Hotel:**

Dex and Lim stood attentively in the hallway outside Fisk’s penthouse in the Presidential Hotel as a lone female bellhop emerged from the elevator, pushing a cart on which sat a tray covered with a steel pan. There was an audible beep as the tray and cart were wheeled through the metal detector, setting off the alarm. Dex and Lim stopped the cart and proceeded to inspect the contents. Lunch for their prisoner today would be a very naked cheeseburger with French fries and not much else. Just to show that room service was treating Fisk like a guest, the tray also had a small Heinz ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers, plus a tall glass of water.

For the two agents, it had been a very quiet night, in sharp contrast to the chaos that had unfolded on Monday night/Tuesday morning when they were settling Fisk into his new digs. Dex had to admit it that the shrink’s advice was very helpful. Spying on Julie for a couple hours served as a nice distraction from his work, and his other object of desire. Despite his efforts to act like he found Fisk disgusting, he couldn’t help but harbor a high degree of fascination with the big man. He seemed to be able to anticipate every one of Dex’s moves, something illustrated perfectly when he and Lim had entered the penthouse just before six o’clock that morning for a surprise room check. Dex was even more perplexed and intrigued by the way Fisk watched him attentively as he exited afterwards. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Fisk was playing some kind of mind game with him, anticipating his room inspection or showing admiration for his shooting skills.

Hence, while waiting in the hall for Fisk’s lunch to arrive, he’d decided that the best way to show Fisk his appreciation for this was to play a prank on him. Lim happily agreed to his proposal, knowing that as his babysitters, they could do almost anything they wanted to Fisk and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.  Dex picked up the burger, inspected the bun and patty to make sure none of it appeared to be tainted, then took a bite out of the burger. He then proceeded to dump the burger and fries off the plate and onto the tray, and covered them with the steel pan that had covered the plate during the elevator ride. Meanwhile, Lim removed everything else from the table except for the tray, and placed these items on the bottom level of the cart.

The whole time, Dex noticed out of the corner of his eye that O’Malley and Wagner, the two senior agents who were guarding Fisk’s door, were just standing there, doing nothing. They must have figured out what he and Lim were doing and wisely decided not to ruin the younger agents’ fun. In fact, O’Malley was visibly smirking at them, while Wagner just kept a very stone face throughout. _Wagner, come on, crack a smile already! It's funny!_

Their job now finished, Dex and Lim slipped back into the command center, took seats at one of the surveillence stations, and rotated the security cameras in the penthouse to focus on the doors. As they watched, O’Malley widely opened the doors and poor Wagner wheeled the service tray into the penthouse and across the barren living room to Fisk, who was sitting at the lone table attentively. Dex grinned at Lim, and zoomed the camera in as Wagner set the tray down in front of Fisk and removed the pan. _How does a hardened mafioso react when you mess with his burger?_ Dex mused. Truth be told, he expected that Fisk probably would go bananas at someone contaminating his lunch. He’d had enough experience eating out at restaurants to see how hostile some people got towards wait staff when their food didn't come out perfect. Given the rumors he'd heard about Fisk's volcanic temper, Dex was hoping he might react the same way. It would make great footage to circulate around the office, maybe even send to YouTube to further humiliate Fisk.

Fisk stared at the tray, and the partially bitten burger, seemingly trying to decide what to do about the food in front of him that someone had clearly already eaten. Dex and Lim waited patiently, wondering what exactly was going on inside his head. A few moments later, they had their answer. Fisk just calmly moved the tray closer to him. Then, using his utensils, he broke the bitten half of the burger apart and dumped the pieces into another part of the tray one at a time with a spork. _Okay, so far so good._ It was what Fisk did next, though, that shocked them most: he started cutting the rest of the burger up with the spork and began eating it piece by piece.

“If I'm being honest, that's not the way I thought this was gonna go,” Dex said. _I was THAT certain he was going to angrily throw the tray aside…_

“Who eats a burger with a spork?” Lim asked, incredulously.

Their little study of Fisk’s eating habits was interrupted by the door opening. Dex looked up as Hattley came into the command center, accompanied by Nadeem and another portly agent that Dex thought looked familiar but couldn’t quite pin a name on. He'd seen him around the office, but that was all he knew.

“Special Agent Poindexter,” Hattley said.

Dex stood up. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding.

“This is Supervisory Special Agent Donald Winn with OPR.” Hattley motioned to the new face that had accompanied her and Nadeem.

Dex was confused. _What the hell is the Office of Professional Responsibility doing here? And what do they want with me? Something to do with the motorcade attack?_

“Poindexter,” Winn said, politely, “Why don't you go grab a cup of coffee?”

Dex stared at Winn for a moment, doing his best to remain as stoic as possible. The fact that he was being sent out of the room could only mean that OPR needed to talk to his colleagues about something that involved him. As certain as he was that this "something" was the motorcade, he knew Winn probably wouldn’t tell him even if he asked. So he simply nodded and said, “Yes, sir." He then begrudgingly stepped away from the computer station and exited the room.

Rather than go down to the hotel bar for coffee like Winn had suggested, Dex decided to just wait in the hallway, so he could quickly get back to work as soon as Winn was finished up talking with his colleagues. While he waited, his mind drifted to Julie, and what she'd be doing tonight.

About a minute or so later, Nadeem exited the room, interrupting Dex from his thoughts. “Dex!” Nadeem called out.

Dex reluctantly turned around to face his colleague. He and Nadeem had been good friends and close colleagues for all of the past six years. Ray's family were really the closest thing he'd ever had to a proper family, and he'd grown to enjoy spending time with Seema and Saami. Dex and Nadeem were also close enough that they were able to confide in one another when they felt like they were under heavy burdens. Perhaps right now, Nadeem could give him some insight into why he was under investigation.

“Don't sweat this," Nadeem said.

Now Dex was annoyed. Clearly, the agent from OPR wasn’t here to do a simple question-and-answer interview with his colleagues about the motorcade ambush. And why was Nadeem trying to sound cryptic? “Sweat _what_ , exactly?” he asked. _Get to the point, Ray._

Nadeem turned his head away for a moment, shifted his feet, and put his hands on his hips. “OPR wants a private interview with Fisk," he answered.

Dex felt a bout of anger bubbling beneath the surface. It took a lot of effort to maintain his outwardly calm exterior. “And I'm the only one asked to leave the room,” he continued, finishing Nadeem’s sentence. _What does OPR think they’ll accomplish by getting a statement from Fisk about me?_

Nadeem glanced at his feet, and bit his lip, looking like whatever he was about to say brought him great pain to say. “It would be inappropriate of me to tell you that the Office of Professional Responsibility has launched an internal investigation into the motorcade attack,” Nadeem said. He briefly glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was around who could hear them, then turned back to Dex and lowered his voice to a whisper. “It would also be inappropriate of me to tell you that there was a slight discrepancy between your official report and the forensic analysis of the shooting.”

 _Well gee, that totally is no shocker,_ Dex thought. He was familiar enough with FBI policy that this was just standard procedure for use of force situations, here and in every other law enforcement agency. Any time an incident happened in which lethal force was used, an internal investigation would be opened to determine whether or not the use of their gun was justified.  This happened even in cut-and-dry situations, like the Albanians’ attack on the motorcade.

Although Dex accepted that internal investigations were part of the game, it still was something that frustrated him to no end. Ever since the Michael Brown killing in Ferguson three and a half years ago, it seemed like every time a cop killed someone, even in situations where it was 100% obvious that deadly force was the only option, the press would swarm out like vultures and pounce on the unlucky cop and vilify them. Even when the facts came out and showed that the deceased was a criminal with a lengthy record, the cop would still be painted as the bad guy and the criminal painted as a victim. Even worse, due to political pressure, police departments these days were all to quick to jump the gun and throw good cops under the bus in order to save face with the media and the courts of public opinion.

What annoyed Dex even more was the hypocrisy of it all. These same media outlets that condemned every cop who so much as used lethal force or who was caught on a heavily edited, vertically-shot cellphone video using force to subdue an individual resisting arrest? They were the same ones who were also the quickest to praise the actions of the new vigilantes who had popped up across the city in the past few years, including Daredevil, Luke Cage, and Frank Castle. It made Dex feel envious of them, to the point he’d actually vented about it to the shrink last night. _“I understand you’re just trying to do your job, but respectfully sir, if I was wearing a mask, the press would be calling me a hero. Instead I’m sitting here trying to justify defending myself!”_

Because truth be told, Dex knew that, morally, his actions during the attack had been what was expected of him. Enemy combatants had attacked his transport, and killed or maimed his colleagues, many of whom he had known and worked with for years. All because they were just doing their job, protecting a prisoner. Though that wasn’t to say his methodology at taking them out wasn’t 100% kosher. He remembered that there was one pair of gunmen who had dropped their weapons and raised their hands, shouting that they were surrendering. Rather than listen to them, he’d disassembled a gun taken off one of their comrades and used the individual parts as throwing daggers, which he lobbed into their throats. Dex had figured that no one really would care, as they’d killed FBI agents and he could argue that they were trying to get him to let his guard down. Nevertheless, when he wrote about these deaths in his report, he claimed that he shot these gunmen just like the others, figuring that no one would bother to look too closely. Given the circumstances, he’d figured OPR would do the same and let this one slide. Boy, how naïve that line of thinking had been.

“Yeah, it would be inappropriate for you to tell me all this,” he snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Fortunately, it seemed like he still had some allies in the FBI who were on his side, irrespective of everything else. Nadeem, at the very least, was in his corner. The look that Nadeem had on his face was one of sympathy.  Of a friend helping out a friend.

“Because of you, my wife still has her husband and my son still has his father,” Nadeem said. As Nadeem turned around and went back into the command center, Dex could hear the unspoken message in Nadeem’s sentence. Nadeem was lucky to be among those who survived the attack with minimal damage, though that had understandably been enough to rattle his family. Dex remembered overhearing snippets of the conversation that Nadeem had had with his wife when she stopped by around 10:00 am to deliver lunch to him, and the way she’d expressed how their son was experiencing nightmares. It had to be worse for the families of the five agents who hadn't been as lucky. _Think about that, Dex,_ he heard Dr. Mercer’s voice say to him in his head. _People like him can help you._

* * *

**125 Broad Street:**

125 Broad Street was a 40 story building situated at Broad and South Streets in the Financial District. Designed in the 1970s by the architectural firm of Kahn & Jacobs, this skyscraper sat almost on the southern tip of Manhattan’s island. It had a wide assortment of tenants, including the New York Civil Liberties Union, the ACLU, and the Patrolman’s Benevolent Association of the City of New York. It was the largest police union in the United States, and represented over two thirds of the 36,000 police officers in the NYPD, Brett among them. 36,000 cops who probably all would want Fisk back in prison as much as Matt and Karen did.

That Wednesday afternoon, Matt and Karen took the 4 train down to Bowling Green, and walked the few blocks to 125 Broad Street in hopes of catching Brett Mahoney so they could get information on the perps responsible for the Kazemi attack. Matt had reluctantly agreed to Karen’s idea, after she suggested that they also ask Brett to dig up information on Jasper Evans. It might not tell them where Fisk was hiding Evans, but they might be able to find someone who knew Evans from before he went to prison and thus have an idea of his old haunts. Matt knew he’d have to be careful tiptoeing around Brett, since Brett would have a hard time believing Matt just picked up this information from an Albanian at the prison, not without admitting the truth about him being Daredevil.

When they arrived at the building’s lobby, they were surprised to find Foggy waiting by the elevators, staring absentmindedly at the floor indicator as he waited for an elevator to descend.

“Foggy?” Matt said, recognizing Foggy’s heartbeat. He felt his face and Karen’s light up together, and Karen tugged him over by the arm to meet him.

Foggy turned at the sound of his best friend’s voice and the scowl on his face was promptly replaced with a faint smile. He lit up, happy see his former work colleagues. Moreso, he was happy to learn that Matt and Karen had finally made love. They must have done so again last night, as they were both glowing far too brightly. _For people who should be terrified by Fisk._

“Um. Hi, Karen. Hi, Matt. I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“Nice to see you too, Mr. I-Want-To-Be-A-District-Attorney," Karen snarked.

"Matt filled you in on Marci's suggestion?" Foggy asked.

"I promised I wouldn't keep any secrets from her," Matt said. "What are you doing here?"

“What are you two doing here?"

“Oh. Well we were looking for Brett, and Manolis at the precinct said he was down here,” Matt answered, putting his hands on his hips, “Was hoping he might give us some information on a witness with goods on Fisk. What about you?”

Foggy looked from Matt to the floor indicator. The elevator seemed to be taking forever. “My first port of call as a District Attorney write-in candidate,” he answered, wistfully, “Marci thinks I might stand a good chance if I gain the backing of New York’s Finest. And what better way to do that than get chummy with the union representing 2/3rds of the NYPD.”

"That's 24,000 people you're trying to sway, Foggy," Karen said.

“Don’t you have clients to be defending?” Matt asked.

“Nope." Foggy shook his head. "I'm on paid leave as of this morning. I can't multitask a campaign and take on new clients here."

 _At least you're better at realizing that you cut back on commitments when you know you won't be able to make all of them._ "What about Marci?"

"Hogarth's granted her a reduced caseload. She'll still have a few clients, just not as many she'd normally be handling."

From behind his glasses, Matt gave Foggy a skeptical expression. "You do realize that if you win, Marci will have to resign from her job, right?" He didn't know much about politics, but he could see a potential for a huge conflict of interest if Foggy was D.A. and still dating Marci. Foggy would have to recuse himself from any case where a defendant hired Hogarth's firm, lest he risk getting accused of playing favorites with them. "There's no way the public is going to let you be dating a lawyer on the opposite side without some members of our fraternity thinking you have a bias problem."

"I'll cross that bridge when I have to," Foggy said.

“Have you already spoken to Glori?” Karen asked.

“Glorianna O’Breen from the _Bulletin_?” Foggy nodded, “Yep. Marci and I just had an interview with her this morning at our apartment.”

“Did you say anything to her about me?” Matt asked. He wanted to be sure Foggy was being careful with his words to avoid saying anything that might connect Matt to Daredevil.

“Beyond the work we did at Nelson & Murdock, no,” Foggy said, rolling his eyes, “I mostly told her why I was entering the race. And a few tidbits about what it was like growing up in Hell's Kitchen back in the 70s. Plus, Marci also said I was going to be paying visits to several prominent officials in City Hall to see if I could persuade them to break away from Tower.”

The elevator arrived and they stepped in. As they rode the elevator up to the 12th floor, where the PBA was based, Foggy turned to Matt.

“How did things go with that socialite whose dad Fisk put in the hospital?” he asked, breaking the silence. “That Kazemi guy?”

Karen answered. “He bought the Presidential Hotel six months ago through a shell company called Vancorp,” she said, “I did a little digging and it turns out that it’s one of a number of shell companies that Fisk’s lawyers have filed charters for that allow them to do business in the United States. It’s his main sham business and he’s using it to funnel money into one Red Lion National Bank.”

"Vancorp," Foggy repeated, "He's named a shell company after his girlfriend?"

Matt chuckled. "I think Fisk's banking on people being too ignorant to figure out the pun."

“How long did that take you to find all this?” Foggy asked Karen.

“Couple hours of due diligence,” Karen said. She laughed, halfheartedly. “It’s boring, but, you can’t exactly take Fisk on by solely using fists and punches.”

Matt grimaced.

“Is there something wrong, Matt?” Foggy asked, concerned.

Matt exhaled. “Foggy,” he said, “You and Marci need to watch your backs, in case Fisk does anything to you in the next few days.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Foggy stared at Matt, confused. “What could Fisk possibly be doing?”

Matt hesitated, unsure how much of the details he should disclose regarding his visit to the prison, which he doubted Foggy would be happy about. “Look, the last time we spoke before I 'died', when you brought my armor to the precinct, you told me that it was important that I keep my two lives separate, that we'd both be facing disbarment-well, both of us and Marci-if anyone puts two and two together. Remember that?"

"What are you getting at?"

Matt's voice lowered to a whisper. "Foggy, Fisk knows that I’m Daredevil.”

Foggy’s jaw dropped. Karen could see the blood drain from his face and he looked like he'd seen a ghost. “What?!” he exclaimed.

"Yeah, big 'whoa,'" Matt said.

"Well what the fuck happened?" There was a time and place for Foggy to ream Matt out for being careless, but that would have to wait until later.

“I went to visit the prison this morning,” Matt explained. "I went to see Michael. Remember him? The one we defended as a favor for Theo?"

Foggy nodded. _Michael Kemp?_

"Well he did stuff for the Albanians. And as the Albanians hate Fisk, I figured they might know a thing or two about Fisk's allies and maybe even the guy who shanked Fisk." He took a deep breath, “Seems Fisk anticipated I was coming, and had this big trap laid out for me. He can access the prison cameras even from the confines of his suite in the Presidential. He saw me fight a bunch of inmates he’d hired to kill me on the off-chance I stopped by.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “And then when I got out of the prison, he had one of his men try to drive me into the Hudson in a taxi cab.”

Foggy ran his fingers through his hair, trying to process this information and refrain from throttling Matt for being so careless.

“At the very least,” Matt spoke up, sensing Foggy’s fear and exasperation, “I found out some good information.”

“Which is?”

“Fisk has been planning this for months,” Matt answered, "The hotel being bought, even his shanking, it's all part of the plan."

“My head is spinning…” Foggy put a hand to his forehead.

“Karen and I already suspected this once we found out that Fisk owned the hotel, but that shanking Fisk received on Monday morning, he planned it. The Albanian boss at the prison, he confirmed this. Fisk paid a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him,” Matt explained, “And even better, Fisk arranged for him to be released from prison.”

“Jesus…” Foggy said. “Tell me you’re gonna find him before Fisk has him killed.”

“That’s what we’re doing here,” Karen said, “Evans is a lifer, he probably has a file with the NYPD. I’m thinking Brett might be able to dig up some information on where he lives, maybe determine whatever got him on Fisk's radar. We put him on record with the _Bulletin,_ Fisk gets exposed and either he goes back to prison, or at the very least he gets humiliated."

Matt cleared his throat. Karen glanced at him, then remembered, they were also here to gather information on Rostam Kazemi’s attackers. “Plus, Brett might be able to give us the names of the guys who beat up Kazemi. If we go after them, we might get one of Fisk’s capos.”

Entering the union hall on the 12th floor, it felt to Karen like she, Matt and Foggy were walking into a reunion of Jos. A. Bank men’s department clients. The room was filled with NYPD cops from all over the department, including patrol officers, supervisors, detectives, and a few of the Chiefs. As they made their way through the crowd, Matt felt overwhelmed, picking up snippets of various conversations going on. He was letting Karen hold his elbow and allowed her to guide him through the room, to avoid betraying his heightened senses.

They found Brett standing by the coffee machine on one side of the room, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Detective!” Foggy called out.

Brett looked up, and scowled at the sight of his childhood friend, plus Matt and Karen.

“What the hell are you three doing here?” he said. “This is a union-only function.”

Foggy smirked, which seemed to just annoy Brett even further. He knew deep down Brett was glad to see him, Karen, and Matt, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Brett had once said to him that they were technically supposed to be enemies, but that didn't stop lawyers and NYPD cops from secretly cooperating under the table. Especially cops like Brett, who had gained a lot of credit for recapturing Fisk and later received a promotion for the arrest of Frank Castle. “You know what I love about our dynamic?” Foggy said, “We skip the pleasantries. No hellos. No how-you-beens. Straight to business.”

“I'm about to get to the business of dragging your asses up outta here,” Brett quipped.

“Well we wouldn't have intruded if it wasn't important,” Foggy said, defensively.

Brett sighed, wearily, and put his hands on his hips. “Let me guess. You also need a favor.”

Foggy beamed at him. “See? Do you have this kind of shorthand with anyone else?”

“What do you want?”

It was Matt’s turn to speak. “Uh, we’re here to talk to you-“

“I’m asking Foggy,” Brett interrupted. Matt stopped talking.

“Wilson Fisk,” Foggy said, in a low whisper. “His cushy new situation is a federally-funded slap in the face to every officer in this room.”

Brett shifted, flinching a bit at the mention of Fisk’s name. “I told your friends the same thing yesterday," he said, "Everyone in this department hates the situation. Not sure what that has to do with you crashing this party, though.”

“I just want to say a few words, express my solidarity,” Foggy said, “And it would play better if you gave me the floor. Just to say a few things.”

Brett exhaled. He wasn’t sure what Foggy could do to boost the cops’ morale. “It's been a long week, Foggy, okay?” he stated, “And you talking is only gonna drag it out. Now, it's time to go. In handcuffs or on your own.”

Foggy waved his hands in front of his face. “Say no more. ‘Hey, Brett, how's it going?’” And with that, he stepped away from Brett, disappearing into the crowd of officers. “Excuse me, esteemed constables…”

Brett turned to Matt and Karen. “What the hell could he want?” he asked. "What's gotten into him, Murdock?"

It occurred to Karen that Brett and the other cops in the room almost certainly didn’t know yet about Foggy throwing his hat in the District Attorney’s race. He'd only declared it less than 24 hours ago. “I think he’s trying to get Frank Reagan and every other cop in this department to pledge their support to his District Attorney campaign,” she said.

“He’s running for District Attorney?” Brett asked, baffled. “Since when did Foggy Nelson enter politics?”

“Last night?” Matt said, his voice turning upwards, making it sound more like a question than a statement. “He wants to show support for the NYPD's efforts to continue building a case against Fisk and his associates, as well as pressure Tower into prosecuting Fisk at the state level.”

“He’s gonna have a big uphill battle entering this late in the going,” Brett muttered.

“The primary's still a month away,” Matt pointed out.

“True,” Brett nodded, “But does he know how many asses he’ll have to kiss by then if he wants to stand a chance against Tower? Tower's been with the D.A.'s office for 14 years, and he's been making efforts to clean up the office's reputation after all of Reyes' abuses of power were exposed in the press. I just don't see how anyone would pick Foggy over him.”

Karen shook her head. “Considering the hot topic Fisk is, I'm gonna disagree with you.”

In the meanwhile, Foggy had made his way up to the dais, a raised platform with a podium and a microphone. There was a navy blue backdrop behind the dais, sporting the logo of the police union in gold, as well as the NYPD logo and the City of New York seal.

Foggy tapped the microphone to see if it was working. “Guys, could I have-“

“Hey, Counselor,” one officer in the crowd, Spinelli, shouted, “I personally wanna thank you for springing my arson perp out of jail on a technicality!”

The room erupted into a series of jeers and boos. Matt and Karen were stunned. Karen wasn’t pleased to see Foggy being treated like a nuisance. Neither was Matt, who was resisting the urge to go beat the shit out of the heckling cop. Which he didn't want to do, not in the presence of a bunch of boys in blue with guns.

“Come on,” Foggy tried to speak over the noise, “There were mitigating circumstances, and you know it, Officer. His building was not up to code.”

“Let me show you where to stick your mitigating circumstances,” the cop fired back. “Up your ass!”

The room erupted in uproarious laughter that drowned out everything else. Brett realized the immediate problem: the other officers in this room, most of them weren’t from the 15th Precinct, and didn’t have the same amount of courtesy towards lawyers as he did. For them, lawyers were the assholes who got in the way of them doing their jobs. The 15th Precinct was the rare exception to that rule. It was the one precinct in Manhattan where the cops and lawyers got along just fine, especially the ones like Brett who felt that Nelson & Murdock did them a public service clearing out the corrupt cops in Fisk’s pocket. Unfortunately, he needed to sway opinion in favor of Foggy, and to do that, Foggy needed to be given room to speak. So he jumped up on stage and politely nudged Foggy aside so he could take the mike.

“Hey, hey, hey, people,” Brett spoke into the microphone, “Look, um Nelson's all right. He helped this department put Fisk behind bars. Just give him a minute.”

“Thank you, Brett,” Foggy said.

Brett nodded. “One minute,” he said.

Foggy turned back to the microphone. “Officers, I don't mean to disappoint. But I'm not here to talk only about Wilson Fisk. With his name on everyone's lips, he's getting far more publicity than any cop killer deserves. His name deserves to be buried, buried in the same hard earth where he put your fallen brothers. I'm here to talk about Blake Tower, our honorable district attorney.” Foggy became more animated, stoking his anger over the meeting he had with Tower yesterday. “Here's a man charged with ensuring the safety of this city, just as you are! And yet, he stands idly by while this monster bribes an inmate to shank him, then manipulates the feds into whisking him out of prison and into the warm lap of luxury. Someone smarter than me-“

“That's a pretty freakin' low bar, isn't it?” one officer in the crowd spoke up.

Foggy pressed on, refusing to let any more interruptions derail his speech. There was a very good quote from Edmund Burke that he realized was very appropriate for this situation. Matt had taught him the quote, alongside his various quotings of Thurgood Marshall.  “That man said, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ Blake Tower is a good man doing nothing. Which is why, with the proud support of my former colleagues from Nelson & Murdock, I'm running my own write-in campaign for district attorney, to oust Blake Tower and to put Wilson Fisk into the deepest prison hole allowable under the Eighth Amendment. And I would love nothing more than to do that with the endorsement of each of you and your illustrious union.”

He spent the next seven minutes going into a rough outline of all of Fisk's known criminal actions to date, as well as Blake Tower's other failures as a District Attorney. Not just the whole situation with Fisk, but also Tower's complicity in all of the misconduct that Reyes had engaged in when she was in office, like covering up the Central Park massacre and her blatant violation of the witness protection deal the firm had made for Grotto. Obviously there was no proof on paper that Tower had known that day what Reyes again, but Foggy had a gut feeling that with all of Reyes' activity being exposed by other ADAs who went on record after her death, Tower would have a hard time claiming ignorance if grilled about it on TV. 

As he spoke, the crowd of cops went deathly silent, listening with intent. Matt and Karen could hear a few of them murmuring to one another as they let Foggy's words sink in, and weighed the pluses and minuses of supporting a write-in candidate. From what Matt could pick up, it seemed like most of the cops were worried about alienating Tower’s office if he ended up being reelected.

At the conclusion of Foggy's speech, the cop who had been jeering Foggy when he first took the podium broke the silence, asking, “All right, where do we sign up?”

Within a matter of minutes, there was a long line of about 30 to 40 cops queued up to shake hands with Foggy on the dais, get their picture taken, ask questions, and sign a sheet of paper pledging their support. While that was going on, Matt and Karen pulled Brett aside.

"Is there anything new on the Kazemi case?" Karen asked. "Any luck on finding the assholes responsible?"

Brett nodded slowly.  "Well do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?"

"The good news," Matt replied instantly.

"We've found four of them," Brett replied, "Steve Houston, Marcus Platt, Samuel Pollak, and Kevin Johnson."

"That's...that's great," Karen said.  _Maybe we can get them to tell us who Fisk used to hire them._ "So, uh, where are they?"

Brett grimaced. "The bad news is that they're dead."

Karen felt her heart skip a beat. She looked at Matt and could tell he was thinking the same thing she was thinking. _Dead? Boy, Fisk must have wanted them discarded very quickly._ "Dead?" she repeated. "How?"

"White Plains Police found them in a burned out Escalade near their Metro-North parking lot last night," Brett elaborated, "They'd been shot in the head execution style. Guess whoever hired them doesn't want them talking."

 _Fisk must not be happy that they got caught..._ Matt thought. Even without any solid evidence, the murders of four of the Kazemi attackers was proof enough that Fisk wanted to cover his tracks as quickly as possible before any of them could give up his middleman. But there were still three others who hadn't yet been killed, probably because Fisk still had some use for them.

"Weren't there seven of them, though?" Matt asked, trying to sound like his knowledge of the case was limited to what the news had reported.

Brett nodded. "There are three others we're still trying to find. Casey Williamson, Arthur Brown, and Dennis Munoz." He pulled out his phone and texted mugshot photos of the three to Karen's phone. "If they're smart, they've probably gone into hiding by now."

"Hopefully..." Matt muttered.

"I wish I could be more helpful there, but that's all I have for the moment," Brett shrugged, "Unless there's anything else you want to know?"

Matt clicked his tongue. "As a matter of fact, we have some vital information for the Fisk task force that you're on at the precinct."

Matt and Karen spent the next few minutes getting Brett up to speed on what they’d learned about Vancorp, Red Lion Bank, Fisk’s shanking, his deal with the FBI, and Jasper Evans.

“You’re sure that this is true? That there's a guy out of prison who's not supposed to be out?” Brett asked, skeptical of their claims about Evans. Matt declined to mention the exact details of the prison riot that Fisk had orchestrated, since he suspected that there was no way Brett would believe a blind man could fight off a half-dozen plus hardened inmates and several prison guards, or that an Albanian mob boss would just pass that word off to Matt.

“The source we got this from is very reliable,” Karen told him. "How soon can you find his last known address for us?"

“I’ll run his name when I get back to the precinct in a few hours,” Brett said. “But I gotta be honest: you two better be prepared for the possibility you might have to find other witnesses than just a hired goon like Evans to bring Fisk down.”

“Yes, Brett,” Matt sighed. “We don’t forget what it took to take him down the first time.”

"We were just lucky that Hoffman grew a conscience," Brett said.

Karen pursed her lips. “Speaking of which, is there anything you can say about the task force you’re on?”

“Not much,” Brett replied, sounding mournful more than anything. “Like I told you yesterday, rumor is he might have a few cops still in his pocket who managed to avoid getting caught. Sleeper cops, if you want to be technical.”

“Really?” Karen said, writing in her notepad. “Do you have any names?”

Brett shook his head. “I've spent this morning looking at our personnel files from three years ago, and that's turned out to be a bust. Costa's visiting Hoffman today up in Sing Sing to see if he remembers any cops he failed to mention in his deposition." He sighed. "What exactly do you plan to do with this information? This doesn’t strike me as something you can print without some more shit to corroborate it.”

“Might be good for the NYPD to show some transparency,” she replied. She smirked as she realized, “And a certain masked vigilante I know of might be able to turn your water into wine." She got an idea. "Tell you what, if Matt or I find anything of worth to you and your men, we'll trade. Our information for your suspected dirty cops.”

“Done,” Brett said, after taking a moment to consider the proposition. “Just be safe out there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Agent Winn didn't have a first name in the show. So I've given him one here. Same for giving names to the agents who serve Fisk the Dex-tested burger. 
> 
> \--Foggy's district attorney campaign in season 3 didn't really get enough depth to it. We only saw him do the union function where he addressed Brett and a bunch of other cops, and saw him use his brother's shop as a campaign office, and humiliate Tower in the public forum, but that was it. In real life, there's a lot more to a campaign than that, even if Foggy isn't entering the race intending to win. He should be busy having to deal with getting support from politicians, and going on TV to get his message across.


	10. The Harlem Rumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen talk to a former associate of Fisk's in an effort to get him on record.

Silvio Manfredi was a gentile old man in his late 60s. Droopy-faced, balding, with a double chin, and silver gray hair that made him look like a relative of Phil Leotardo. It was no wonder that Ben’s nickname for him was “Silvermane”.  However, his grandfatherly appearance was very deceiving, as it was possible for one to forget that he used to be an underboss to Don Rigoletto, who had a stronghold over organized crime in Hell’s Kitchen in the decades before Wilson Fisk and the Hand came along. In spite of the violent things he’d done, he also was a valuable informant for Ben, supplying the grizzled reporter with tips that allowed him to write hard-hitting pieces about the mafia’s far and wide reach within the city. Currently, he was married to a gorgeous woman 13 years his junior named Miriam, with whom he’d had two daughters, both of whom were currently attending colleges in Florida.

Of the mafiosos who were heavily active in Hell’s Kitchen during the 1970s up through the 1990s, Silvio was the only one who was still breathing, alive, and free, having chosen to retire peacefully after he got out of prison in 2010. Everyone else was either missing, presumed dead, confirmed to be dead, or were locked up in prison. Karen was aware from what she and Ben had learned from Marlene Vistain at the nursing home that Fisk had been involved with Rigoletto back in the day. More importantly, when Fisk killed his father, she helped him cover it up and they convinced everyone around that he’d been killed on orders of Rigoletto. Since Rigoletto was dead as well, Matt had an inkling that Silvio, as a surviving underboss of the former Mafia don, might have information as to how Fisk built his criminal empire, how he came to know James Wesley, and how he became acquainted with the Russians and the Hand.

Matt and Karen decided that they did not want the meeting to take place at their apartment, at the _Bulletin_ offices, or at Silvio’s brownstone on the Lower East Side, figuring that Fisk might have people watching those places. Instead, they arranged over the phone to have the meeting that afternoon at a Harlem diner. Karen figured that the meeting would double as an opportunity for her and Matt to grab a late afternoon snack. Matt especially, since he was the one who’d just narrowly survived being murdered in a prison riot. 

Business was slow at the A-Train Diner at 145th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue that Wednesday afternoon when Matt and Karen walked in. There were only a few other customers inside. They seated themselves at a booth with a view towards the door so they could wave their interviewee over when he showed up, and positioned such that a sniper wouldn’t be able to get any of them.

Their waitress was a young Hispanic woman named Xochil, and she had dark black hair tied back in a long French braid. She also showed interest in the handsome blind man seated in her section.

"Let me know if you folks need anything," she said after introducing herself and taking their orders. Matt settled for a coffee, which Karen also went for. "I'll be back in a flash.”

Her gaze lingered on Matt as she spoke, ostensibly at the bandage on his forehead. He gave her an easy, charming smile.

"Walked into a doorway," Matt said, answering her unspoken question. His tone was far more jovial than it had been since he’d first shown up in Karen’s office.

Karen raised her eyebrows at him as the waitress walked away. Although Matt seemed outwardly calm and at peace, she could still hear it in his voice that he was incredibly nervous. In turn, he could tell that despite her best efforts to put on a poker face, she was very scared. It still sucked that their reunion had had to be as a result of Fisk getting out of prison. But Matt knew that as much as he hated Fisk, Karen had had it much worse than him. Fisk had tried to frame her for murder, he’d sent multiple people to attack her on three occasions, and she’d killed James Wesley. On top of all that, she’d been very close to Ben. Matt and Foggy had never been able to convince her that Ben’s death was not her fault. In light of the new information Karen had revealed to him last night, Matt realized she probably saw Ben as a better father figure to her than her real dad. No wonder she had taken his death so badly. And now both of them were dealing with the fact that Fisk knew Matt was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, or at the very least, knew that he had heightened senses. Which meant he now had leverage he could use against them to impede their investigation.

Matt didn't like that Karen was afraid, given how fearless he knew she could be at times, but part of him was glad she understood the weight of the situation. She should be afraid of what Fisk might do. He wasn’t the kind of person one could just intimidate with a beating or two.

"Are you sure you’re okay, Karen?" he said, concerned, as they began sipping at their coffees.

Karen took a deep breath. "Yeah," she exhaled, taking a big sip. "I guess... Matt, I'm sorry. This whole... thing with Fisk is making me jumpy. I dunno. I keep tensing up every time I hear footsteps behind me... or on the train. When we're walking outside, I have no idea who may or may not be spying on us. I..."

Matt reached across the table and squeezed her hand, reassuringly. " _I'm_ sorry," he said. "I know it’s hard on you. That’s why I wanted to team up with you. He's after you, and me. I wish I could tell you that there’s no reason for you to start looking over your shoulder..." He sighed. “I’m sorry, Karen."

Karen took another breath. While she liked that she and Matt were working together here to bring down Fisk, she felt like there was something missing from their dynamic: she was not a very talented fighter. True, she’d learned some basic self-defense moves in the years after she left Fagan Corners, but she didn’t feel like it would be enough, especially with Fisk having so many hired lackeys to do his dirty work for him. "I'd like you to teach me some of your moves,” she said.

Matt raised an eyebrow and his lips curled up into a smirk. “You really want to be a martial artist, Karen?”

Somehow, Karen found that funny, and she ended up laughing. “Not exactly backflips and acrobatics. I know you've practiced that stuff for years, and probably it would take at least a year to learn half of what Stick taught you. I just…I feel like there’s got to be something you can show me that might give me a better chance if Fisk decides to... send his goons after me." She shuddered, remembering the guard that tried to kill her in jail.

Matt slowly nodded his head in agreement. As much as he knew Karen loved insisting she could take care of herself, it hurt him a bit to hear her admit for once she wasn’t sure whether she could handle what was to lie ahead. “Sure," he said. “When do you want to start?”

“Soon. Like, ‘tomorrow’ soon,” she answered.

"Okay."

“Given how things are these days, having an overprotective vigilante is probably the best thing for me."

"You have two who look out for you,” Matt replied, “Me and Frank Castle.”

"I know that,” she said, smiling faintly, “But Frank is out of town. I haven’t seen him since the Roosevelt.”

It was about then that the diner’s front door opened and Karen saw their target, Silvio Manfredi, come in.

 “Ah, he’s coming,” Karen said, seeing their target come through the door. She got up and waved Silvio over to the booth.

“Hey Silvio,” she said.

“You mind telling me why we’re doing this up here, Miss Page? You couldn’t come out to the Lower East Side?” he asked.

“Sorry I had to drag you all the way uptown for this,” Karen said apologetically, “But I wanted to meet on neutral territory and I thought my office would be too problematic.”

“Anything for Ben Urich’s young protégé,” he said, a small smile forming on his wrinkled old face.

“I think she prefers not to be seen as that,” Matt spoke up.

Silvio’s attention turned to Matt, who remained sitting at his seat in the booth.

“We haven’t actually properly met, have we?” Matt stood up and turned to face Silvio.

“Matt Murdock,” Matt said. “I’m Miss Page’s…boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Silvio held his hand out to shake. Matt offered his hand just a few inches left of where he should, and Silvio quickly adjusted to meet him there. “Well, she certainly has good tastes.”

“Definitely,” Karen said, dreamily.

They sat down in the booth, Matt and Karen on one side, and Silvio on the opposite side.

“So…what’s the big scoop?” Silvio asked.

“You used to work for Don Rigoletto, is that correct?” Karen asked.

“Yeah I did,” he answered, “I was one of his most trusted advisors.”

“Mm-hmm,” Karen said, fidgeting with her spoon, “And what can you tell us about Wilson Fisk?”

Silvio’s eyes went wide at the mention of Fisk’s name. Karen thought she could see a bead of perspiration forming on his brow, and Matt heard his heartrate accelerate.

“I...I can’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Matt said. “You know something about Fisk. Your heartrate tells me that.”

“W-what?”

“Does he have leverage over you?” Matt asked.

Silvio took a deep breath. “If you think you’re going to somehow take down Fisk with what I know, _don’t_.” There was an air of authority to his statement. “Ben already tried.”

“Please,” Karen said through clenched teeth. “Silvio, you were his friend.” She felt her voice break.  “Ben was a good a friend to you, and to me. And right now, the man who killed him is being held in a luxury penthouse on the taxpayer’s dime, being catered to by the FBI. That can’t possibly sit right with you, does it?”

Silvio had nothing to say to that.

“Fisk tried to have me killed twice,” she pleaded, “He threatened my friends, people that matter to me, to try to get me to back off. We want him locked up again. And I know you probably want him locked up too. But we can’t do that unless you help us.”

Silvio sighed. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Karen asked, sharply.

Silvio’s mouth hardened into a grim line. “Fisk told me that if I talked to anyone in the police or the press about the shit that I know, he’d kill my wife and my kids. If you know anything about him, you know that he does not make idle threats. Ever."

"Fisk threatened to have your family killed?" Matt said. “That’s nothing unusual.” He remembered that that was the sort of thing that James Wesley was known for doing. Fisk would never have visited Silvio personally to threaten him. He saw a potential line of exploration here: if Fisk’s threats to Silvio were made after Wesley’s death, maybe he’d give them the name of whoever Fisk had promoted to replace him. “Who did he send?”

Silvio glanced at Matt and regarded him with an expression of curiosity. After a moment of silence, he replied, “He sent a guy to visit me, right after Ben died.”

“So…not James Wesley?” Matt observed.

Silvio shook his head. “Wesley was dead by that point. It was this older gentleman. Dapper British man.”

“What was his name?”

Silvio shook his head again. “I didn’t get his name. All I know is that he looks like an aged-up version of Daniel Craig. And that he said he spoke on behalf of Fisk.”

Karen made a note in her notepad. _A British man is one of Fisk’s associates._

“What’s Fisk’s connection to Rigoletto?” Matt asked. “We uncovered some information in Ben’s files that suggested he was a former subordinate to him.”

Silvio caught Matt's gaze and then swallowed. "Fisk and Rigoletto went way back."

"How?” Karen started transcribing what Silvio was saying.

"His father was running for the City Council in 1972,” Silvio explained, “And Bill Fisk, no bank was willing to provide him a loan to cover the costs of running his campaign. He had to use other channels to find someone willing to bankroll him."

“Why?” Karen asked. She didn’t know much about loans, but it couldn’t have been cheap to run for City Council, especially someone from working class Hell's Kitchen. From what little she and Ben had gotten out of Marlene when they’d visited her, it seemed like Bill Fisk was probably not the kind of customer that banks liked to tend to.

“He had no real collateral,” Silvio said, “And the banks were not convinced he’d ever pay them back in a timely fashion.”

"So, I’m assuming he went to a loan shark," Matt said.

Silvio nodded.

"He just nodded,” Karen whispered to Matt.

“Was Rigoletto this loan shark?” he asked.

“Rigoletto floated him. He agreed to support Bill’s campaign, on the condition that Bill would pay back the loan through kickbacks from city officials.” Silvio sighed. “Unfortunately, he lost, but with the benefit of hindsight, we should’ve realized that wasn’t really a surprise to anyone, not me, not Rigoletto.”

"How?" Karen asked, trying to make sense of what Silvio was saying.

“The guy was a sore loser,” Silvio said. “He beat Marlene and little Willie when he thought they weren’t respecting him. Last time Bill was ever seen alive, he was seen forcing his son to beat up this teen named Bernie Walker who was knocking down some of his signs after the election.”

That didn’t make sense to Matt. Rigoletto had managed to be in power for decades before his prison sentence. What possessed him to willingly support someone with that kind of character? “So why would Rigoletto float a liability like that?” Matt asked.

“Rigoletto had hoped that with Bill on the City Council, he could get someone into the D.A.’s office to suppress all investigations into _La Cosa Nostra._ He was that gullible. But… ” he shrugged. “…Rigoletto was human, and he just underestimated how much of a problem Bill would’ve been.”

“What happened to Bill?” Karen said. While Marlene had suggested that only she and Wilson knew the truth about what happened to Bill Fisk, Karen had an inkling to think that there probably were a few other people who knew the truth.

“He killed him,” Silvio answered, “Wilson beat him to death with a hammer.”

Matt straightened up. “How did you find out about that?” he asked.

Silvio bit his lip. “When Bill went missing, the general consensus was that he left town to avoid being found by our people. We did not try too hard. Nobody really missed him.”

“You didn’t try talking to his wife?” Matt asked.

“This was the 1970s, Mr. Murdock. The _Cosa Nostra_ had different policies in place at the time. One rule was we never leaned on the wives and kids of those who owed us debts.”

“Right,” Matt said, “I think his son changed that policy.”

“How did Fisk become a member of the family?” Karen asked.

Silvio twirled his finger. "His mother came to us, explaining what happened, about two years after his disappearance. Evidently they had been living on a farm upstate trying to avoid repercussion. She wanted safe passage for him back into the city.”

 _Wilson's mother approached him_. “What did you offer?”

“We told her that we’d forgive her and Wilson, owing to the circumstances and the nature of Bill Fisk's character. And instead of repaying his father's debts, Wilson would come to work personally for Rigoletto.”

Matt looked as if he’d almost been expecting that. “What exactly did Fisk do in Rigoletto’s employ?”

“He started at the bottom of the ladder and worked his way up,” Silvio said, “Common sense when you think about it. First he was low-level muscle, collecting protection money, bribing officials, that kind of stuff. As time went by, we began trusting him with more and more duties. By the time Rigoletto, Carbone, Costa and I got put away, he had enough authority within the organization to start calling the shots.”

Karen glanced at Matt. _Carbone. Costa. Those are two of the names in Ben's files_. “And I guess he took over when you and Rigoletto were locked up.”

“Pretty much. Rigoletto ran things from jail,” Silvio said. “Fisk stayed on the outside, and he served as the unofficial street boss.”

Karen was a bit wary of this. There had been virtually nothing on Fisk prior to his big press conference on the steps of City Hall. Even with his ability to make things disappear into black holes, it seemed a stretch that he could hold that much power without a paper trail.

“How was Fisk able to stay under the radar?" she asked. "Before that whole speech of his at City Hall, we had almost nothing on him. No social media, no mentions in articles or on websites, not even a fucking photograph.”

“There’s an awful lot you can do when you have half the city on your payroll,” Silvio answered, half-heartedly. He chuckled. “You can do things like erase all evidence of your existence. Or you can bolster new relationships with the Chinese, the Japanese, and the Russians. Actually helps that he'd already recruited Wesley by the time I went away, which made things easier.”

Matt turned in Karen’s direction. Clearly, the Hand’s alliance with Fisk had nothing to do with Rigoletto’s death. After a moment’s hesitation, Karen reached into her bag and grabbed a crime scene photo of Rigoletto’s remains.

“Rigoletto was killed a little over three years ago,” Karen said, “Not too long after he got out. There were two other mafiosos who were killed around the same time. Julius Carbone. Frank Costa, etc.”

Silvio’s breath hitched as he observed the photos Karen presented to him. It couldn't have been easy, having to look at the dismembered remains of someone so close to you.

“Was Fisk responsible for any of these?” she asked.

Silvio returned the photo to Karen.

“He was..." He swallowed a lump of bile. "...He responsible for Rigoletto’s death, that's for certain. I heard Julius Carbone fell in front of a train...or something. And Costa, well, that was in Brooklyn and I'm not exactly welcome there.”

“What exactly could get Fisk to kill the boss who took him in?” Matt asked.

Silvio bit his tongue. “I will save you time by saying that Fisk and Rigoletto did not see eye to eye with one another and they could get a little unruly at times. You know how it is with families.”

Karen and Matt stared at him.

“My understanding,” Silvio said, clearing his throat, “Ahem. My understanding, from what little I saw, is that Rigoletto did not approve of the new business partners Fisk made while we were on the inside. He didn’t trust the Chinese leader, uh, Madame Gao or something. Nor did he trust the Yakuza’s representative, a figure named Nobu. He said they gave him the creeps and he was convinced that they were using him for malicious purposes.”

 _They were members of the Hand. They needed him to get Midland Circle._ Matt could buy that Rigoletto probably would be skeptical of Fisk’s choice of new partners, even if he was unaware of their mystical nature.

Karen frowned. Fisk tended to kill loose ends. She’d seen it with Rance, with Detective Blake, the junkie he’d hired to kill Mrs. Cardenas, and he’d tried to do it with her. He wouldn’t leave such a big loose end alive unless they had something he wanted. “So he killed Rigoletto, and threatened you into retiring. Why spare you?”

“He had a bit of a soft spot for me,” Silvio rolled his shoulders, “I rewarded him with zuppa inglese from this pastry place on 53rd Street on weeks where he did a lot of hard work during his teenage years. I guess he felt indebted to me for that.”

Matt bit his lip. "Just one more question. These other mafia dons you mention. Carbone. Costa. Did they know about what Fisk did?"

"Yes, they did," Silvio said, uneasily, "Somehow it came up during a deal Fisk made to move the Chinese' product into those crews' territories after he drove the Irish out of Hell's Kitchen."

It was about then that the diner’s front door opened and a trio of men entered the diner. Matt stiffened up as they began walking in the direction of the booth where he, Karen and Silvio were seated. These men, their heart rates were spiking, and he could smell gun oil emanating off the skin of their leather jackets. One of them had a familiar smelling cologne on him. Matt paused as he realized that this was one of the surviving men from the Kazemi attack that he’d goaded into attacking him with a metal pipe.  Karen looked up at the men. One of them was a Latino male wearing wearing a newsboy cap and a black leather jacket, whom she recognized as Dennis Munoz.  The second was a white guy in his twenties with strawberry blond hair and a tan leather jacket, and a missing middle finger, whom she recognized as Casey Williamson. The third was a black male who kinda resembled Diamondback but not entirely, and whom she realized was Arthur Brown. Brown was reaching for a shoulder holster hidden in his jacket. Karen’s eyes widened and she reached into her purse for her gun.

In an instant, without caring that he wasn't masked, Matt got up to his feet and greeted Brown with a sucker punch to the left side of the face. Brown staggered backwards, letting go of his gun. He took a swing at Matt, who ducked and countered with a cross to the opposite side of the face. He then fell to the floor, wheezing.

Almost immediately, Munoz and Williamson launched an attack on Matt, right there in the middle of the seating area. Both of them were larger than him, but clearly not trained in any sort of fighting beyond basic brawling. _Fisk’s hiring standards really have taken a plunge._ As Karen and Silvio watched, she studied Matt’s fighting moves. He didn’t really care that there were two other patrons in the diner. He didn’t care if he was unmasked; he had to try to stop the men who were trying to kill their witness. He lashed out at his attackers with a calculated precision, ensuring that each of his blows was as painful as possible. As Karen watched him heel-kick Munoz into a table, hard enough knock Munoz's hat off, part of her questioned whether it would be a good idea to let Matt teach her self-defense, something she shook away very quickly.

The fight dragged on. Matt leapt onto an unoccupied table and used it to propel himself into a flying kick that knocked out Williamson. There was a loud _crack_ as the guy’s head struck another chair.

As soon as Williamson was down, Karen saw Matt grab Munoz by the throat hard enough to lift him clean off his feet, and then slammed him into the marble floor near the front doors. He crawled on top of Munoz, pinning him in place with his right knee on his chest, and delivering him a swift sucker punch to the nose, fracturing it. Munoz tried to scream in agonizing pain, but with the wind knocked out of him, it sounded more like wheezing. He was also bleeding quite profusely from where his nose had been broken.

Satisfied that Munoz wouldn’t be able to fight any more, Matt grabbed his right arm in a tight hold and twisted it as far he could go without breaking the bones. With his other hand, he grabbed Munoz by the hair, and lifted his head up.

"Who are you working for? Who sent you?!" he growled.

Munoz spit out blood. “You think I’m afraid of you, _diablo_?”

Karen and Silvio got up from the booth and walked across the dining room to Matt. She stood right over the neutralized Munoz’s legs, and took her gun out, letting it hang by her side.

Matt slammed Munoz's head back against the ground. In the sudden quiet, Karen’s breath catched in her chest at the sound and the appearance of a dark smear of blood on the tile. She nonetheless composed herself.

"Talk, asshole,” Karen snarled, “Who do you work for?!”

Munoz stammered. Matt reached out with his hand and grabbed him by the throat.

“I can’t…” he said, choking.

“Who is it?!” Matt’s voice now had a rough, hoarse sound to it.

Munoz clawed at Matt’s tight grip with his hands. Karen pulled back the hammer on her gun.

"Maa—Manning!" Munoz choked out, "Felix Manning!"

Matt seemed to suddenly snap out of whatever state he had been in, releasing Munoz abruptly and standing up. He tilted his head, and Karen knew he was listening to Munoz's heartbeat to decide if he liked his answers or not.

"Who else is…Felix working with?"

"I don't know," Munoz said, breathing heavily. Matt delivered a swift cross to the man’s chin. Karen gasped as Munoz coughed up more blood.

"Try again."

" _I don't know_ ," he repeated.

Matt gripped his hair, unconvinced, and prepared to slam his head against the floor another time. Not wanting any more brain damage, Munoz hurriedly continued, "I barely know him! He’s just this old English fart who hires me to do jobs for his employer."

“Who is Mr. Manning’s employer?”

“He’s very cryptic! All he says is that he speaks for some cat in Riker’s!”

 _Meaning Fisk. He’s being careful to insulate himself from the illegal activities of the streets._ "And what has he tasked you to do?" Matt asked, not ready to let go of him. The mention of Rikers convinced him that Fisk had kept these three assassins alive for the purposes of killing Silvio.

" He—he’s telling me his employer has this old Mafia G pal who knew him back in the day who knows things he wants to have buried, and we need to take him out.”

Karen narrowed her eyes at the bleeding man. Matt narrowed his eyes, too, not that meant anything, owing to his blindness.

"So he paid you to do…what, shoot him in a diner in front of a bunch of witnesses?"

"Pretty much," Munoz said, "Boss says he wants it to be very public, with lots of eyes watching. Lot of noise."

"Why now?" Karen asked, getting ahead of herself. She turned to Silvio, and caught his gaze. His skin had gone a little pale, too.

Munoz shifted his gaze to Karen for a moment, then shifted back to Matt again.

Matt tightened his hold on Munoz’s right arm, and he grimaced in pain.

It was Silvio’s turn to speak. "I think you should answer the lady's questions."

Munoz shifted his head to Silvio. "He wants you, Signor,” he ground out, “He wants dead everyone who knows about a certain incident that happened in 1972."

Karen’s eyes widened. Silvio’s eyes widened a bit too. They all knew what he wasn’t saying: Fisk wanted Silvio dead because he was cleaning out people who could spill the beans on things he did for Rigoletto, and who also knew about how he bludgeoned his father to death with a hammer.

"Anything else?" Matt asked.

"I dunno. That's all he told me, I swear. An incident that went down in 1972, nothing else."

Karen gripped the gun in her hand harder. She could see Matt's broad shoulders rising and falling slowly, a telltale red flag that he was about to let the devil out. She’d seen it in the parking garage when he was overpowering the FBI agents who’d come to Donovan’s rescue. Unfortunately, his captor was a little slow to pick up.

"We were just supposed to pop Manfredi. In and out in 30 seconds tops. Supposed to be as easy as Kazemi. Didn't know the old man had company-"

Matt delivered a jab to Munoz's chest, cracking one of his ribs. _That’s for Rostam Kazemi_.

"Where is Felix Manning?"

“I don’t know. I’m just muscle.” Matt roughly twisted the man’s arm even more, dislocating it. “All right-all right-all right! You want him, the vacant lot on 44th and 11th, 9:00 pm!” There was another pause as Matt determined if the man was lying. He wasn’t.  He found the address strange: that was the lot where Midland Circle had been located. And where Elena Cardenas’s tenement building had been located prior to that. Unfortunately, he never got to ask any more questions, because he suddenly heard a telltale sound. His fingers twitched. It was the sound of an assault rifle’s safety being unlocked. _Oh shit. Fisk planned ahead accordingly. There's more guys outside…_ He remembered how things had happened at the courthouse when Reyes was killed. 

“Get down!” he shouted to Karen and to the patrons, who had been watching this whole interrogation like it was surprise entertainment. Without hesitating, he let go of Munoz. No sooner had he done that than he’d thrown himself onto Karen and tackled her to the ground as the first bullets tore through the windows. They landed in a heap, and Matt clapped his hands over Karen’s ears to drown out the noise. After about ten seconds listening to the sound of glass breaking and wood splintering, the gunfire subsided, just as quickly as it had started, and all that was left was a disturbing silence.

The only sound Matt could hear was the ringing vibrations in his ears from the automatic gunfire, which made him nearly miss the smell of burning rubber and sound of screeching tires as a car sped away. Fisk must have had an additional pair of gunmen on hand as backup in case the men inside the diner failed to complete their job. He and Karen both got up slowly, and Karen peeked back at the main seating area. Patrons and waiters who had taken cover when the shooting started were beginning to cautiously emerge from their hiding spots to see what was going on. Karen could hear the sound of police sirens in the distance, getting louder and louder.

As she scanned their surroundings, she noticed Matt “staring” in the general direction of what was lying a few feet away from them. There was Silvio Manfredi on the floor. His eyes were wide-open and unblinking. And there were several bloody bullet holes riddling his chest.

 _Damn it! There goes another potential witness who could speak out against Fisk! And he has the perfect alibi!_ It was a brutal, bloody sight, one that Karen would never forget, no more so than when this had happened in Reyes’ office, or that time Frank shielded her as the Blacksmith’s men tried to shoot at her in her apartment. Hearing the sound of groaning, she noticed that Munoz had also caught a bullet in the leg, unable to get out of the way when the shooting began.

Someone screamed, and the horror moved like a breeze through the room, even among people who had yet to see the body. Karen supposed that the scream was enough, or on some instinctive level, they picked up the iron ore scent of freshly spilled blood.

Not that Karen really cared much about that.   _Fisk is going to pay for what he’s done._  "Fuck you, Fisk..."

* * *

“He can’t keep doing this!”

Matt and Karen were still standing there, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, observing the action going on around them. The entire block and the nearby intersection had been cordoned off with crime scene tape. The streets were clogged with NYPD cruisers from the 29th Precinct, ambulances, a fire engine, and the forensics unit. Karen could see bystanders on the other side of the crime scene tape recording videos on their phones as the henchmen Matt had fought beforehand were brought out on stretchers. The Crime Scene Unit was crawling all over the diner, photographing the blood stains from where Matt had interrogated Munoz, as well as Silvio’s body.

Karen felt sickened. She just wanted a break from the ever-present specter of violent deaths that seemed to follow her around. Her brother. Daniel Fisher. Elena Cardenas. Ben Urich. Samantha Reyes. Colonel Schoonover. Lewis Wilson. Brett once said to her, “Is there any shit show you’re not a part of?” after Matt had rescued her and the other hostages that the Hand had used as part of their trap a year ago, and if she were being honest, he was right. She wondered if she was becoming the next Jessica Fletcher. Violent deaths always seemed to follow that old biddy around wherever she went. Karen suspected if she ever tried to go back to Fagan Corners, she’d turn the town into the next Cabot Cove.

Matt for his part was also outraged. Just when he thought Fisk couldn’t sink to any new lows, like the prison riot that morning, he always found new ways to one-up Matt, and shooting up a diner in Harlem as part of a gang hit on a former associate of his fit that bill.

“It was brilliant.” Matt hated to admit that. “Now we’ve got Silvio Manfredi dead and nobody who can actually directly testify to Fisk’s background with Rigoletto. No Silvio that we can deliver to Blake Tower.”

“He’s cleaning house,” Karen muttered. “Just like with the other Kazemi kidnappers.”

Matt sighed. He tried to think of the positives. The information Silvio had given them about Rigoletto wouldn’t be usable in court without Silvio alive to testify about it, but Karen would be able to use it for an article if possible. Munoz was only slightly better. He’d confirmed that he was another one of the participants in the attempted kidnapping of Rostam Kazemi. But more importantly, he had given them the name of the middleman Fisk had used to hire him: Felix Manning. That he was, as Munoz put it, an "old English fart" wasn’t a very helpful description for sighted people, but it sufficed to Matt. Knowing his accent would help make it easy for Matt to single him out in a crowd. Even better, Munoz had told them where exactly they could find him. Tonight, he was going to be visiting the lot that used to be occupied by Midland Circle Financial.

As Matt and Karen stood there in silence, Matt tried to think of reasons why one of Fisk’s goons was going to be going to Midland Circle. One possible theory he had was that Fisk intended to buy the property back and build something new there. Maybe some stupid rich condos that nobody could afford, like he’d originally suspected had been going on when they first took Elena’s tenancy dispute. From what he had learned from Karen last night while they were going over what they knew on Fisk, that lot had sat vacant ever since the building collapsed, and had been paved over, sealing up the giant hole that the Hand had dug in the middle of the property. Given Hell’s Kitchen’s constant state of regentrification ever since the Incident, and what Fisk had been doing with Union Allied and other ventures, it would make sense for him to pick up his rebuilding plans for Hell’s Kitchen like they’d never even been stopped.

There was another possible theory as to what Fisk’s henchman would be doing there: he was setting up a meeting with another crimelord. Matt understood that the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen always liked to hold their secret meetings in empty warehouses, deserted parking garages, or in vacant lots, ones where there wouldn’t be many prying eyes to observe them. It would be a perfect place for him to have a meeting with the leader of another criminal organization. This theory made just as much sense: with most of Fisk’s old associates dead or locked up, he was going to need new business partners. _New partners. Ones he can dispose of when he no longer sees a need for them._ Matt stiffened up as he remembered something Karen had said the previous morning before they went to the Presidential Hotel.

“Didn’t you say yesterday morning that you were considering writing an article about Fisk’s tendency to dispose of his business partners, Karen?” he asked.

Karen stared at him. She felt her heart skip a beat as she realized what he was referring to. “I was just hypothesizing, Matt,” she admitted. “What are you getting at?”

“Because that guy inside, he said that Felix Manning is going to be at Midland Circle tonight,” he explained, “I can think of one possible reason why he might be going there.”

“Which is?” Karen said, staring at him.

“Well,” Matt said, steadying himself, “Now that Fisk is out, he must be looking for new associates Since he’s under house arrest and 24/7 surveillance by the FBI, he’s probably relying on others to speak for him. Kinda like Wesley did. He may be insulated from the streets being cooped up in the Presidential, but these people under him, and potential business partners, they’re probably not as good at covering themselves.”

“What, we get another Hoffman?” Karen asked, in disbelief. “’Cause that clearly wasn’t enough to hold Fisk.”

Matt held up his hand. “I think if I spy on this meeting, we can find out just who Fisk is negotiating with. Once we find that out, we present them with evidence that they’re getting a raw deal going into business with him.”

“Turn the criminals against Fisk,” Karen mused.

“Fisk already has a reputation for killing his partners, okay?” Matt said, “Look what he did with the Russians. With Nobu. When he no longer had a need for them, he arranged for them to be taken out. These other crews have got to know that if they make any deals with Fisk, sooner or later he’s gonna hang them out to dry. And if they think Fisk is going to discard them, maybe self-preservation will trump greed and they’ll fight to not end up like Rigoletto. Or Anatoly. Or Vladimir. Or...Silvio here.”

“Start a war between Fisk and another gang?” Karen asked, skeptical. “You really want to do that?” She remembered what had happened here in Harlem just a few months ago in the Stokes-Stylers gang war. Severed heads on pikes. A stockbroker's head in a fish tank. A restaurant of innocent Jamaicans in Crown Heights gunned down for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Mariah Dillard killed some Stylers associates. Gangbangers shooting it out on the corners. That wasn’t the only recent gang war Karen was familiar with. She remembered how Frank’s attacks on the Irish and the Dogs of Hell had made some gangs desperate enough that they were settling scores on the emergency room floor, one of which Foggy had had to defuse. She wasn’t too fond of the idea of Matt orchestrating something that was bound to get innocents caught in the crossfire.

“I’m thinking of giving Fisk a taste of his own medicine,” he said, defensively, “He tried to pin Anatoly’s death on me to keep me and Vladimir distracted while he was setting the bombs. And he pitted me against Nobu in the hopes that we’d take each other out, leaving his hands clean. I think the best way to fight Fisk is to think like him.”

Karen paused, dwelling on the idea. What Matt had proposed would be a long shot. But like she’d once told Ben, she liked the long shots. “I don’t give a shit what happens to Fisk,” she finally said, her voice hollow, “As long as he’s gone.” She shuddered. “I won’t feel safe until then.”

“You'll be safe with me, Karen,” Matt said, putting his hand on her.

Their thoughts were interrupted as Karen saw a familiar Afro-American woman with black jeans, a black coat and a metallic arm. Matt cringed as he recognized her heartbeat it was Detective Misty Knight. She was the detective who had been handling the NYPD investigation into the Hand, the one who had agreed to shelter Karen, Foggy, Trish, Claire, Colleen, Malcolm in the precinct when the Hand began targeting them. Matt remembered Foggy something about Misty being injured during the incident at Midland Circle, and that was apparent as he could sense that her right arm was now entirely a prosthetic, from just above the elbow.

Karen felt a little anxious. She knew from her coverage on the _Bulletin_ ’s police beat that Misty had been involved in the takedown of the Stokes-Dillard gang with assistance from Luke Cage. And she also worried she was high on Misty’s enemies list. When Mariah Dillard had massacred that Jamaican restaurant in Brooklyn two months ago, Karen had gotten a tip from one of the detectives at the scene that someone had survived the shooting. Despite her efforts to keep a lid on the tip, someone had overheard her discussing the tip with Ellison and spread the word out to other people in the media, including a reporter that asked Misty about it during a press conference.

From the look Misty gave when she walked up to them, she looked like she saw a ghost at the moment she recognized Matt.  “Back from the dead, Mr. Murdock?” she said. “Or should I call you Daredevil?”

Matt winced. So there was yet another person who had found out the truth about his secret identity, and an NYPD officer. _At this rate, I’m soon going to have a full page of names of people who know who the man in the mask is._ He decided not to mention that bit, not while they were visibly in public and within earshot of others. “Detective Knight,” he answered, “Nice to meet you again. Although I wish we were meeting under more ideal circumstances.”

Misty turned her attention to Karen. “I’m pretty sure that reporters are supposed to be writing the stories, not making them, Miss Page.”

Karen scoffed. “Yeah well I’m Angela Lansbury, Detective, I think you would know that by now.”

“Whatever,” Misty replied. She turned to Matt. “And how the hell are you even alive? You were crushed under a 40 story building and yet here you are, walking around like nothing happened.”

“It’s a long story,” Matt said, shifting on his feet. He motioned in the general direction of her right arm prosthetic. “New limb there?”

Misty glanced at her robotic right arm. “Danny and Colleen hooked me up with this.”

“Seriously, it looks pretty good,” Karen said. She'd seen a fair number of prosthetic limbs before, but nothing so advanced it looked like it could've been salvaged from one of Tony Stark's iron suits.

“I’m told it’s like a Maserati with fingers,” Misty replied, sheepishly.

Despite his best efforts to remain stoic, Matt couldn’t help but laugh a little, as could Karen.

“Listen, you do understand that I have to take statements from both of you,” Misty said, grabbing an audio recorder from her pocket, “You two are the last people who spoke to Mr. Manfredi there.” She motioned to the body inside, which was covered up by a sheet.

“Really,” Matt repeated, “Do you really want me to describe the sounds, Detective?”

“Cut the shit. There's two witnesses who said that before the shots rang, the three men who just got taken to the hospital pulled guns on Mr. Manfredi and that you subdued them, Mr. Murdock,” Misty replied. “Is that correct?”

Matt grimaced. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d fought those thugs without any sort of mask on him, meaning that there witnesses watching him, and frankly, he didn’t care at that point. Those were armed guys working for Fisk and they were actively trying to kill someone.

"Pretty much," Matt replied.

"Can I ask what Mr. Manfredi said to you? Did he say anything about potential enemies seeking to kill you?"

Karen glanced at the sheet covering Silvio's body. “Well he was a high-ranking member of the Rigoletto crime family until he retired a couple years ago.”

“Rigoletto,” Misty said, like that name sounded familiar. “Why do I know that name?”

“He used to be an associate of Wilson Fisk,” Matt said, “Mr. Manfredi met with us because we thought he had vital information about criminal activities that Fisk is currently engaged in.”

“That bald-headed asshole in the Presidential Hotel?” Misty asked, revolting. Matt wasn’t surprised by her reaction. Fisk was public enemy number 1 as far as the honest cops in the NYPD were concerned.

"That one, yeah," Karen nodded.

“He told us some interesting stuff about how back when Fisk’s father ran for City Council, he borrowed money from Rigoletto,” Matt said, “He also said that Fisk beat his father to death with a hammer. And that Rigoletto later took him under his wing and groomed him in exchange for his father’s debts being forgiven.”

“Also, he claims that Fisk ordered Rigoletto to be killed as a result of a power struggle a few years ago,” Karen added.

“Did he say anything that could be usable in court?” Misty asked.

Matt shook his head. “At this point, it’s my word and Karen’s word against that of a dead guy,” he replied. “And then the three injured guys came in. They were trying to kill Silvio. I managed to subdue all three of them and I got one of them to talk.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Not much,” Matt said, “He said he was part of the Kazemi kidnapping that happened in Hell’s Kitchen on Sunday, and he gave me the name of one of Fisk’s intermediaries and said he will be at Midland Circle tonight.”

“Do you want my help?” Misty asked. “Bringing him in?”

Matt shook his head. He and Karen were open to teaming up with people they already knew who had played some part in their first effort to take down Fisk, but not outsiders. That’s why they were okay teaming up with Foggy, with Marci, and to an extent, even Brett. And even if they could get Felix Manning into NYPD custody, he didn’t exactly trust Misty Knight with handling witnesses. He’d heard thirdhand that she’d lost a would-be witness against Mariah Dillard thanks to failing to secure her phone.  And Mariah had had only maybe half the influence and power that Fisk had.

Although, that didn’t rule out that someone like Misty could useful in other ways. Matt knew that the best way to find out what gangs Fisk might be reaching out to, beyond the meeting Felix was having tonight, would be to use contacts in the NYPD and ask them for tips on gang activity. Brett had Hell’s Kitchen covered, but Matt and Karen really needed the help of a few cops from outside the 15th Precinct, since he had a suspicion that Fisk was looking to expand his turf beyond just Hell’s Kitchen.

“I dunno, Detective,” Matt said, wearily.

“It doesn’t hurt to have allies on the force, Murdock,” Misty insisted, trying not to sound offended, “I have CI’s here. I know many of the players up in Harlem.”

“Good,” Karen replied, bluntly, “Who runs organized crime in Harlem at present?”

“There’s a lot of new blood up here,” Misty replied, massaging her temple, “I'd suggest you look into Rosalie Carbone."

Matt's hairs stood up on end. _Another mention of the Carbone name._ "Any connection to Julius Carbone?" he asked.

"She's his daughter. Their family has controlled Harlem since the 50s," Misty explained, "She's been making waves up here ever since Mariah died. In fact, word is some British guy is trying to make contact with members of her gang about some kind of business deal. Do you already know her?"

“Her came up in one of our files," Matt answered, hesitantly. He felt his braille watch to check the time. It had been a long morning and afternoon and he was very eager to get home, and maybe rest for a few hours. “We should get going, Karen.” 

Karen sighed, a little bit more dramatically than she intended. “You know where to find us if you need any more information from us, Detective.” She grabbed Matt by the elbow and began guiding him towards the police perimeter, headed for the subway station.

Just as they reached the crime scene tape, Misty called out to them, “Hey!”

They both turned around to face her.

“How long exactly have you been back from being ‘dead’, Murdock?” Misty asked. She sounded more curious, than anything.

“For about two days now,” Matt replied, confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if you were ever going to get in touch with Luke while you were up here.” There was a slight change in Misty’s breathing, which convinced Matt that something was up with the hero of Harlem.

Matt frowned. _Didn’t Foggy say something about Luke acquiring a nightclub?_ He remembered that when he’d met Foggy and Marci at Josie’s last night, Foggy mentioned that Luke had gotten into some legal troubles and he’d bought a nightclub that used to belong to Mariah Dillard. _Is there more to it, though?_

“Why do you ask?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, just…” Misty sighed. “You might consider touching base with him. He might appreciate you dropping by.”

“What do you mean?” Matt inquired, concerned.

“Oh I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I just thought you superhero types always, y’know, had each other’s number.”

Matt laughed. “I wouldn’t really say that that’s what we are. We’re not exactly like those guys downtown.” He paused. He wondered where she'd figured out his second identity. "How did you learn? About... _him_?" He made "devil horns" with his fingers.

Misty shifted her feet. "Claire told me while I was in therapy. She's...very persuasive. She's got a clinic not too far from here, if you need her to patch you up."

Matt chuckled. "Not today. Maybe another time."

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sound of his regular phone ringing.

 _"Foggy. Foggy. Foggy."_  said the monotonous female voice that comprised his ringtone.

"Sorry, I gotta take this," Matt said. _What is Foggy calling about? He find something on Fisk or does he need some backup on his campaign?_ He sighed and answered his phone. "Hey Foggy."

"Hey buddy," Foggy said. "Are you and Karen busy right now?"

Matt bit his tongue. "Uh, no, not at all," he lied, "Did you have something for me?"

"That double date I suggested we have last night," Foggy replied, "You and Karen, me and Marci. Are you still up for it?"

"Sure," Matt said, trying to sound casual and not like someone who'd just lost another witness to Fisk's henchmen. "Anything special going on?"

"I want to celebrate my first successful day of campaigning for District Attorney, Mattie! You and Karen should join in! Celebrate this together!"

Matt laughed. _That's the Foggy I'm used to._ "Uh, yeah, we're totally available," he replied. "Where and what time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---I used a few other stories as basis for this chapter. Matt's interrogation of the henchman loosely borrows from an instance in "What They Wouldn't Do" by Ashevillain, while the details of the Rigoletto backstory borrow heavily from ayy_zajjy's "The Sins of the Father" 
> 
> \---I felt it was appropriate for Matt and Karen to try talking to Silvio in Harlem, far removed from Hell's Kitchen. Hence, the Misty cameo. I'm not entirely sure I got Misty's character down correctly for her cameo here, since I'm more focused on the characterization for the main players.


	11. An Evening of Espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen pursue Fisk's money and find out what he's planning. Fisk and Dex continue their game of cat and mouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a meatier chapter, which took me longer to write (not helped by having to get a new computer midway through the month), not to mention retweaking parts of the individual scenes. Hopefully, the payoff is worth it.

**The Old Homestead:**

For dinner, Matt and Karen met Foggy and Marci at the Old Homestead, a fancy steakhouse at the southeast corner of 15th Street and Ninth Avenue in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. This was the transition point between the orderly grid layout above 14th Street, and the less organized streets of Greenwich Village and below. It prided itself on being the oldest continuously operating steakhouse in New York City, outdoing both Peter Luger’s and Keen’s. Its history could be traced back to 1868 when it was first founded by German immigrants as the Tidewater Trading Post. In the 1940s, it was bought out by Marc Sherry, a longtime employee and former dishwasher, and renamed. Today, the place was operated by Sherry’s grandsons, and could seat about 500 to 800 people on a normal night. 

Old Homestead was admittedly a fancier place than Karen or Matt could ever imagine going to. Karen couldn’t imagine eating here with the salary she’d been making at any of her previous three jobs here in the city, at Union Allied, Nelson & Murdock, or the _Bulletin_.

Both couples each split one of the restaurant’s signature porterhouse steaks, medium rare, with lots of vegetables and fresh bread to go around between them and the prospective D.A.

Foggy raised his glass as soon as their food arrived. “To our first double date,” he declared.

“To our prospective D.A. candidate,” Matt corrected.

They all smiled and clinked glasses. As the waitress came around with a second basket of bread, Marci took this opportunity to ask something she had intended to ask the previous night at Josie’s when Matt had shown up, but hadn’t because Karen hadn’t been there. This was the first time Marci had spent significant time with Karen in the last three weeks.

“You know, I gotta ask you, Karen,” Marci said, “Do you have some sort of pull on Murdock? Because as long as I’ve known Matt, he’s never really been one to commit.”

“That’s not true,” Matt said to Karen, blushing heavily.

Marci flashed that sickening smile. “Come on!” she exclaimed, “You’re living in his apartment, or so I’ve been told!”

Karen gave a look to Matt that probably was one that reeked of, _why did you say that to her?_

“Seriously! I’m honestly surprised! What did you do, take his billy club for a ride? What’s he like in the sack?”

Now Karen was blushing. _Leave it to Marci Stahl to start probing me and Matt about our sex life._ She glanced at Matt, and saw he was blushing too.

“This is hardly appropriate dinner talk, Marci,” Matt said, chuckling.

“Fine, maybe it’s not,” Marci said, “But there’s no other reason why you’d be living together, right? Aside from…” she made devil horns on her head with her pointer fingers. “…him.”

Karen sighed. “Come on, skintight spandex is a real turn-on for me. It’s so… _formfitting_.” She squeezed Matt’s hand under the table.

“Girl, a hot masked vigilante like him has throngs of women who'd like to throw him against their walls and show him how much they are grateful for him,” Marci said, suggestively. "You haven't done that?"

Judging by the hitch in Karen’s breath, and the way her cheeks turned pink and her eyes stared lustily at Matt, she was clearly thinking about it. Marci eyed Matt, noting the slightly malicious smile on his face he was trying and failing to hide.

“I have, actually,” Karen said, “Both times that he saved me.” She glanced at Matt. She could tell he was remembering what she’d said to him that night he told her his big secret. _“_ _I should be really angry at you. But I watched you fight for me! Twice, actually! You know I dreamed about that? I played it over in my mind again and again, and I keep…how can I be this mad at someone who saved my life?_

Marci glanced at Matt, too. She wasn’t attracted to Matt, by any means, and she didn’t always like him, but she did connect to him on a certain level. Knowing that he was Daredevil, there was something she found admirable about it, but not about what he did. But what it stood for.

“That outfit does a lot,” Marci said, idly, “Fun fact, there’s a lot of gossip at our office about Daredevil. What he looks like under the mask.”

“I bet there is,” Matt said, “Jeri Hogarth’s firm handles more superhero-related business than any other law firm here in the city.”

“Of the Midland Circle gang, you’re the only one her firm hasn’t done any work with,” Foggy said.

Matt smirked. “That’s not true. The John Raymond case?”

“That was a deferral,” Foggy insisted, “And you never did get paid for it.”

Matt laughed. “Sometimes I wonder what’s gotten into you two. I mean, Foggy, you once told me that working for Hogarth wasn’t exactly what you envisioned when we were signing up for our 1Ls. And by ‘we’, I mean all three of us lawyers here at the table.”

Marci nodded and took a sip of her wine glass. “I just nodded,” she said.

“Seriously, what do you do there?” Matt asked, quietly. “I know, I asked you two this last night, but then we got side-tracked into more of a strategy talk about Fisk.”

Foggy nodded. A part of him was interested to find out what Matt was going to do once they took down Fisk. He was certain that for now, Matt was back to what he had been doing before Midland Circle, and his pro bono practice. “Still good. I mean, I’m paying off my student loans. And I don’t have to worry about going broke or falling behind on rent every month. I still wish we could be doing that together."

Karen nodded. She could tell Foggy was getting better paid at his new firm from the change to his wardrobe. The new suits he wore looked very expensive and very…retro. They probably each cost about as much as Nelson & Murdock typically made in a month. “The fancy suits, do they come with the territory?” she teased. “Ever consider getting a fedora? You look like you’d be more suited to being a bootlegger in the 1920s than a District Attorney in Manhattan.”

Foggy glanced down at his suit, almost unconsciously. “Really? I’m not going into bootlegging. I’m not George Remus.”

Matt, Karen and Marci laughed. “No, of course you aren’t, Foggy Bear, that’d be scandalous,” Marci said, nudging him.

“Do you like being back at a big firm?” Matt asked, uncertainly. “You hated Landman & Zack. I can’t imagine Hogarth is any better a boss than Parish Landman.”

“I…” Foggy faltered, and Matt tilted his head, catching the hesitation in his voice. “Well…” Noticing how intently Matt and Karen were listening to him, it occurred to Foggy that no one at the firm really gave him this much attention. Then again, in law firms that size, no one listened to anyone else, period. It was every man for himself. Except for him and Marci.

“It’s a shark tank,” he admitted, “Long hours. All-nighters. Having a boss to answer to. That’s actually the part I’m still trying to adjust to. Is it wrong that I can’t get used to that, even after a year?” Foggy remembered one time he’d talked to Jeri when her partners were trying to force her out over her ALS diagnosis. He’d attempted to offer Jeri assistance in the battle with her partners, appealing to her the same way he’d appeal to Matt. But she was all but annoyed by his efforts to essentially involve himself in her life, reminding him that she was his boss, not his coworker.

“Any good things you like about work there besides the money?”

Foggy bit his tongue, trying to think of a few positives of working for Hogarth. “Well we have in-house drycleaning at the firm. Saves me a lot on laundry.”

 “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a perk,” Marci said, giggling softly, “It’s more of a conspiracy to keep us associates in the office longer and rack up more billable hours.”

“And of course, this fine broad here.” Foggy squeezed Marci’s hand. “If it weren’t for her, I’d probably have drowned in a month.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Well, she’s the only ruthless attorney I know of that I don’t think is engaged in illegal activity.”

Marci nodded. As much as she and Matt may have been at odds, she couldn’t help but admire his determination. He graduated from Columbia _summa cum laude,_ while blind. Which was no small feat. In fact, he was one place above Marci in their class. The legal community was not one that was friendly to minorities like women and the blind. She remembered very well how much of an uphill battle it had been to get her colleagues at Landman & Zack to look at her as an equal. She was thrilled that her work had been enough to land her a spot at Hogarth’s firm when L&Z collapsed in the wake of Fisk’s arrest. Even with the shift, Marci had her days when she wished that she could funnel her career into solely helping those who needed help, instead of catering to jackholes whose opinion of legal representation was "henchmen that I hire to clean up my shit". Helping the little guy, that had been what had motivated Marci to go into studying law to begin with. She sometimes felt a pang of jealousy at Matt and Foggy for deciding to go off and start their own firm, and wished that Foggy had persuaded her to go with them.

"Ruthlessness is just part of the game,” Marci admitted, “Honestly, when I’m acting like a soulless bitch, I’m just putting on a protective shell. Those assholes, they’re not gonna take me seriously if I look like I actually give a shit about suffering tenants in a tenement that my firm’s clients are trying to evict.”

Karen felt her breath hitch at the mention of the tenement case and Elena Cardenas.

“Who inspired you to go into law?” Karen asked her, curious.

“Atticus Finch for one,” Marci answered. She smiled, softly. “I can’t even remember how many times I watched the trial of Tom Robinson as a kid, but…he made me think, I want to be him. And I’m not the only one. There’s a lot of other attorneys in our class alone who idolize _To Kill a Mockingbird._ ”

"You're not gonna mention your dad?" Foggy asked, pointedly.

Marci made a frown. "Oh, of course!" she laughed faintly. She looked to Karen. "My dad's a judge in the Criminal Court here in Manhattan," she explained, "And he wanted me to follow in his footsteps."

"Prosecuting criminal offenders?" Karen asked.

"No, just practicing law," Marci giggled, "I couldn't possible fathom having to see the kinds of people Dad sees. So I figured I'd be better as a law firm lawyer."

“And then you ended up at Landman & Zack,” Matt said.

"Sadly, it turns out being nice doesn’t get you far in the world _,_ " Marci said with a bitter laugh and a wistful smile. "It doesn’t give you those  massive salaries of the big firms. That is, the ones you'd need to pay in order to actually afford an apartment in Manhattan. $195,000 starting salary for a first year associate. That’s how L&Z hooked me in.”

"Did you ever consider other firms first?" Karen asked. "Was L&Z always your first choice?"

"I actually considered Caplan & Dahill for a while," Marci admitted, "Got to know their senior partners on a first name basis. But L&Z were more aggressive and poached me."

Feeling a little uncomfortable talking about her career choices, she changed the subject. “So, uh,” she said, gesturing to Matt and Karen, “How do you even make it work? Daredevil and dating?”

Matt pursed his lips. “It’s…complicated. It’s obviously never gonna be easy, but it’s what we both want. And so long as we’re working together to bring down Fisk, it just seems there’s something that makes us click. A vigilante and a reporter covering a story together.”

“She worries about you,” Foggy said to Matt.

“Of course I know,” Matt said, smiling, “Do you think I’d hook up with someone who didn’t care about my own wellbeing?”

“You two are made for each other,” Foggy snarked, “Diving into shit with no regards for your own personal safety.”

Matt let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t need the lectures, Foggy. With my…abilities, and my training—I... _we_ can’t just let Fisk reclaim control of the city.”

Marci searched her eyes. “You guys have talked this through.”

“Thorough,” Karen said. _Both sexually and verbally._ “Mostly we haven’t really had the chance, with the Punisher case, that whole shitstorm with the Hand, and Midland Circle, and now Fisk getting out. But now there’s, well, y’know, actual communication. Teamwork. Honestly, that's the scariest part. Teamwork is kind of foreign territory for both of us. I don’t think it’s ever really going to be perfect. Considering everything that’s happened. But… I don’t—” She bit her lip. “It’s what I want. It’s what Matt wants. So we run with it.”

They ate their steaks in a quiet, peaceful silence for the next half hour or so. Marci and Karen took the lead on the conversation, their respective boyfriends being more invested in eating before their steaks got cold. They were surprisingly chatty, talking about their old jobs in companies that were involved in Fisk’s business. Karen was stunned to find that the two of them had a bit of overlap insofar as their circles of acquaintances were concerned. Though fortunately, the individuals in question were now either dead, in jail, or hopefully had gone underground.

It wasn’t until the waitress had cleared away their plates and brought dessert, which was a delicious creme brulee, that Matt decided to bring up the subject of Fisk, and Foggy’s D.A. campaign. “So uh, I hate to bring up the elephant in the room,” Matt said, grimacing, “But uh, how’s the campaign going?”

Foggy sighed.  “It’s draining as hell,” he admitted. He still couldn’t believe that Marci had been able to talk him into doing something as strange as run a write-in political campaign.

“Isn’t that what they say about trying new things?” Matt asked, more rhetorical than anything.

“Having to kiss ass with politicians is like trying to reason with you, Matt,” Foggy said. Somehow, this got Matt laughing. He just as quickly wiped the smile from his face as he sensed Marci and Foggy shooting daggers at him.

“Sorry,” Matt said, clearing his throat.

“I feel that my words are going in one ear but they’re going out the other,” Foggy grumbled, “I went to visit our district councilman at City Hall, after the union gathering, and I’m telling you, he didn’t really seem that fond of my whole single-issue platform.”

He paused. Matt raised his eyebrows at his friend’s silence.

"And?" Matt asked.

“What’s even worse is that I’ve got to debate with these people,” Foggy resumed, still having a hard time believing it himself.

“Well yeah, you’ve gotta argue why people should take you seriously,” Karen nodded, “Why it’s important that Fisk gets put back in prison.”

“I get that,” Foggy glanced briefly at his hands, “But I’m swamped with TV interviews all day tomorrow. New York One at nine o'clock, Thembi Wallace from WJBP at eleven, and WHiH with Christine Everhart after lunch. And I have to remind those newscasters and their audiences that I’m the one who defended and exonerated Harlem’s Hero because their attention spans are too short to remember things like that…”

“You’ll do fine, Foggy,” Matt said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just mention the whole thing with Elena. She was a good woman and she deserves better than to have her murderer running around on the streets.”

Foggy took a few moments to process Matt’s suggestion.

“You have a base of operations set up, right?” Karen asked. "A campaign can't run without a mission control."

“Theo has agreed to let me use the shop as a campaign office,” Foggy answered. He checked his watch. “I’m actually supposed to head over there tonight to help him set up. Marci actually came up with some good ideas for slogans last night. ”

Matt chuckled. “Hey, you should suggest that Theo run an all-you-can-eat-campaign. Anyone who votes for you eats free.”

Marci and Karen giggled. Foggy chuckled halfheartedly. “You know that’s an illegal inducement to vote, right?”

“I’m just messing with you, Foggy,” Matt said, grinning.

“Anything new you’ve found today?” Marci asked Matt and Karen, rather abruptly. “On Fisk, that is?”

Matt and Karen filled Marci and Foggy in on what they’d learned that afternoon, including their visit to Silvio Manfredi and their near-brush with death. Foggy didn’t have any external reaction, but Matt could tell he didn’t seem too thrilled about his friend fighting in public, with no mask. (He was only able to put Foggy at ease by suggesting that the other witnesses there likely would be unwilling to admit to the police a blind man could do the things he did, and the apprehended assassins probably wouldn’t want to admit that either)

“What about you, Marci?” Karen asked. “Any not-illegal workplace shenanigans you’ve been up to?”

Marci scoffed. “Please, that makes it sound like I’m actively sleeping my way to a promotion. Which, I’m not, because unlike Jeri Hogarth, I have ethics,” she said, rolling her eyes. Karen stared at her nonetheless. Marci reluctantly sighed and whispered, “I did some digging into Donovan & Partners, the law firm that Fisk is using.”

“And?” Matt asked.

“Donovan & Partners has their fingers in a lot of pockets,” Marci said, “Criminal, civil, business, finance, whatever, you name it, they have it. It’s no wonder they take up two floors of the MetLife Building.”

“Well they are dicks, they of course need the real estate,” Matt said.

“Hah,” Marci laughed, “They’re a bunch of fucking losers. They make Parrish Landman look like a saint and he engaged in more unscrupulous conduct than you currently do, Matt.”

“What did you find?”

“They’ve got an awful lot of clients you might say have…connections of the not-so-legal variety,” Marci explained. She dropped her voice to a whisper, the kind one would use when gossiping about scandalous news. “I wasn’t able to find anything solid on any other gangsters Fisk might be working with, on paper, but there are a few clients in the firm that he’s reaching out to.”

“Who told you this? Who did you talked to?”

Marci grinned, mischievously. Foggy groaned. “I managed to secure lunch with Nicholas Lee this afternoon,” she answered, “The salt to Donovan’s pepper.”

"You _what_?" Matt asked. _Having lunch with one of Fisk's attorneys? That's a little risky espionage._

Marci continued smiling. “I talked to him. Told him I was unhappy with my job at Hogarth & Associates and I was thinking of jumping ship to work with him. You’d be amazed what alcohol can do. It makes people tipsy, say things they don’t remember saying…”

Matt had to resist the urge to laugh. Marci had pulled off something that he'd never thought he'd be able to replicate. It probably helped that she was another one of the sharks.

“So you tried to pull a Luca Brasi on him,” Karen said.

“I wouldn’t really call it that,” she said.

“What did you say to him?” Matt asked.

“Oh, I just needed a little push. Doesn’t take much, but…” she took a dramatic pause. She sounded very giddy as she continued summarizing her day. “When he’s plastered, he’s really loose-lipped. He didn’t mention Fisk, but he mentioned that the firm had this client who leveraged the FBI into letting him out of prison.” Matt started to open his mouth. “…Later in this productive long lunch, he mentions that this client is negotiating some deals with some big upper-crust investors from all over the city. I think that’s code for ‘other crimelords’. But--anyways, these deals, they’re all being made over the course of the next week...” She stopped, noticing Matt and Karen had both stiffened up. “Is something wrong?”

Karen glanced at Matt. She could tell he was processing the same thing she was. _That assassin from the A-Train Diner mentioned that Felix Manning would be at Midland Circle tonight for a parlay._

“Nothing,” Matt lied. “I’m just…surprised that you got Lee to crack just like that. That's incredible.”

Marci flashed a smile, the “underestimate-me-if-you-dare” type she was used to showing off when she was facing off with opposing counsel who were thrown off by her cunning intellect. “Oh, Murdock, you really don’t know how to make the most of a long lunch, do you? You need to know how to use my secret weapon.”

* * *

**The Presidential Hotel:**

Dex reentered the FBI surveillance suite at the Presidential Hotel. He had been relieved to get a few hours off that afternoon, which he’d spent napping at his apartment, dozing off to Dr. Mercer’s tapes. The tapes were very therapeutic, and allowed him to take his mind off the FBI internal investigation that was being conducted into his actions during the motorcade attack. It had also allowed to think a bit more about Fisk, and why exactly Fisk was studying him.

The more he dwelled on it, the more Fisk’s words got under his skin in a way that he didn’t even think was possible. “ _I've known extraordinary people._ _But I've never seen a talent like yours. May I ask you where you acquired such a skill?_ " Fisk seemed to be impressed more than anything by Dex’s shooting skills. In fact, the way he’d spoken, he and Nadeem seemed to be the only two people in the world who were viewing him as a hero for what he’d done. He was a bit incredulous that a violent crime lord who supposedly decapitated a man with a car door had more faith in him than his own bosses at the FBI. But that wasn’t too strange nowadays, especially with the events of recent years. The current President was a man who trusted foreign governments’ word over his own CIA. Fisk seemed to be trying to drill that sort of mentality into him.

 _But for what?_  Dex really wanted to talk to Fisk about it face to face, to see where they stood. He also wanted to know exactly what Fisk said to the OPR investigator that had come by that afternoon to take a statement about the ambush. There was just one teeny complication in the way: finding an opportunity to speak to Fisk all by himself without anyone noticing. There was no way he’d be able to pull it off during the day, as that was the busier shift. He couldn’t let any agents notice a period where the cameras in the penthouse were temporarily switched off outside of Fisk receiving a visit from his lawyers. Ultimately, he settled on waiting until that evening. The night shift was much less busy, since Fisk was asleep during most of that time and really, no one particularly desired that shift. As such, fewer men were needed to staff the command center between 8:00 pm and 8:00 am. Fewer men for Dex to need to send out of the room.

When Dex arrived in the command center, he was relieved to find that his task of clearing out the room of people would be easier than he thought. The only agent currently occupying the room was Lim, sitting at one of the computers, watching the penthouse living room feeds.

“I thought you were relieved for the day,” Lim said.

“Is everyone gone?” Dex asked. He wanted to be sure that Lim was the only agent here, and not risk that he’d overlooked an agent who had stepped out to use the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Lim answered.

 _Great. I just need to get rid of you for 20 minutes while I talk to our prisoner off the record._ “Good,” Dex responded, “Yeah, that's good.” 

Now it was just a matter of making up an excuse for Lim to leave the room that didn’t sound like bullshit. As he stood there, Dex remembered what the OPR agent had said when Hattley had brought him by. He’d suggested that Dex go out and get himself some coffee from the bar down in the lobby. Come to think of it, that actually sounded like a perfect line to use at this point, word for word. Lim probably could use a jolt of caffeine right now to keep himself awake for the next few hours. “Why don't you go downstairs, grab a cup of coffee?” Dex suggested, “My treat.”

Sure enough, Lim agreed. “Yeah. That's a good idea,” he said. “I’ll just…” _...let you hold the fort._ He got up from his chair and exited the room.

As soon as Lim was gone, Dex pushed the chair aside and leaned over the controls for the camera feed. He scrubbed backwards through the feed for the past few hours. When he saw Hattley’s and Winn’s faces on the screen, he knew he was getting close. He stopped rewinding and pressed play right at the moment where Hattley and Winn entered the room. The footage from the cameras was divided across the four screens, each of which showed a different angle of the table in the living room, as Hattley and Winn walked in. Winn was carrying a file in his hands.

"Mr. Fisk, I'm Special Agent Donald Winn from the Office of Professional Responsibility," Winn said, introducing himself. "And this is Special Agent in Charge Tammy Hattley, although I assume you two already know each other."

"Winn-" Hattley started.

Winn continued. "I'd like to ask you some questions about an investigation you're involved in, if that's all right with you?"

Fisk nodded, motioning with his head to the chairs. Hattley and Winn took this as an indication that they were free to sit down. Winn took the chair to Fisk's left, and Hattley took the chair to Fisk's right. Over the next few seconds, Winn removed three photographs from the file and laid them out across the table in front of Fisk. Despite the angle of the camera and the 1080p resolution of the footage (if only they'd had the budget for cameras that could record live footage in 4K), Dex could see that they were photographs of dead men wearing ski masks. He recognized them as some of the Albanian gunmen he’d killed.

“Do you remember these men?” Hattley asked.

Fisk nodded. “They were among the Albanians who attacked the motorcade,” he answered.

“Did you see these men die?” Winn asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you see who shot them?”

As the agents talked, Dex moved over to the feed that was showing on the monitor farthest to the right, in which Fisk was the only person visible. He studied Fisk’s facial expressions to see how he reacted.

“There was only one FBI agent left standing,” Fisk said, “Special Agent Poindexter.”

“The moment he shot them,” Winn inquired, “can you describe, for the record, what you saw?”

Fisk took a lengthy pause. It looked for a moment like he was trying to remember what exactly he’d witnessed that night during the shooting.

“They were armed,” he finally replied, “Special Agent Poindexter gave them a chance to surrender, but then their weapons came up to shoot him.” Dex narrowed his eyes and felt his heart racing. _He’s lying to them._ At the moment he’d killed the gunmen, they had their hands on the backs of their heads and were actively surrendering. They didn’t have any weapons in their hands at all. “He killed them both in self-defense.”

Dex held in his breath, waiting to see whether Hattley or Winn would call Fisk on his lies. To his relief, they didn’t. Winn just put the crime scene photographs back in his folder and closed it.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Fisk,” Winn said, getting up from his chair. He and Hattley exited the penthouse without another word. Dex was breathing so heavily that he almost didn’t catch what happened next. As soon as Winn and Hattley had closed the doors behind them, Fisk looked up from his seat and stared directly at the camera nearest to him. Dex felt his eyes widen and he pulled his head back from the monitors a few inches. It was as if the feed was live, and Fisk knew Dex was watching him right at this very instant. _I know you’re there, Agent Poindexter. Look at me, lying to your bosses, painting you as the hero you want to be seen as._ Somehow, he had anticipated that Dex would come in and watch the interview for himself.

Dex stopped the tapes and stepped back from the work station, breathing deeply to get himself under control. _Jesus Christ. That was exhausting._ After a few moments, he composed himself enough to proceed with his plan. He pressed a series of buttons on the master controller, shutting down each and every one of the cameras in the penthouse one at a time. Once the last feed was shut off, Dex left the command center and barged straight into the penthouse’s living room.

* * *

For his part, Fisk had been rather impressed that Hattley and Winn accepted his bogus statements about what he saw during the ambush, and didn't bother trying to cross-examine him. Well, obviously _Hattley_ was never going to say anything, since, after all, she was working for him, and wouldn't want something awful to happen to her daughter if she didn't toe the line. But Winn, who wasn't in his pocket, seemed to accept his false story no questions asked. Fisk chalked this up to Winn just wanting to get things over with since really, no one in his shoes would want to press further about abnormalities concerning the deaths of hired guns that no one would miss.

After their interview, Fisk had received a visit from Nicholas Lee around five o'clock. Lee reported that while the riot hadn't done the job, Casey had successfully disposed of Matt Murdock by killing a cab driver, putting Murdock in the backseat, and then driving the cab into the Hudson, making it look like the cabbie got drunk and got very lost. Murdock was now out of the picture, hopefully for good. There had been a small setback, though, as Lee also reported that they'd also had to get rid of Silvio Manfredi, Rigoletto's old underboss, because he was going on record with Karen Page. Fortunately, with Silvio dead, it was unlikely Karen would ever write about what he'd disclosed to her. Fisk was not happy that Casey, Munoz and Brown had gotten arrested afterwards, but...this was why he was always careful to include backup operatives when it came to these sorts of targets. So the drive-by conducted by a couple of other guys who he'd hired through Felix to shadow Manfredi for the past year had gotten the job done. Casey, Munoz and Brown, meanwhile, could be trusted to keep their mouths shut so long as their families were looked after, so there was no reason to worry about them turning on him. They were so committed to their silence that they didn't even say a word to Lee as to who exactly was the man who thwarted their own attempt to kill Silvio inside the A-Train Diner, merely saying "it was some guy with fists."

Something more intriguing to Fisk had been when Lee mentioned that he'd had a long lunch with Marci Stahl that afternoon. Fisk remembered Marci very well. She was the junior associate from Landman & Zack who had turned over confidential files to her boyfriend at Nelson & Murdock concerning all of Fisk's and Owlsley's illegal dealings with Silver & Brent. A large number of the charges for some of his RICO counts had been thanks to the information contained in those papers, which had been one of the main exhibits at his trial. The fact that Marci Stahl would seek out one of his lawyers for a long lunch was enough to make Fisk suspect that she and Franklin Nelson were mounting some sort of attack strategy, poking at his defenses in conjunction with what Matt Murdock and Karen Page were doing. Fisk wasn't too worried. Franklin Nelson could be easily thrown off his game once the dirt on his brother and his parents was brought to the surface, which, combined with his former law partner being removed from the equation, would be enough to stall him and the reporter in their tracks. As Fisk would soon find out, Franklin was doing certain things that would make such a move even sweeter and more attention-grabbing.

Right now, Fisk was spending his evening idly reading that day's copy of the _New York Bulletin_. He was simply passing the time, waiting to hear back from Felix on the status of his meeting with Rosalie Carbone. Hopefully it would be a rather smooth transaction and she would be quick to agree to their terms. In addition, he was waiting for Dex to watch the tapes and catch him lying to the OPR investigator. He had to resist the urge to smile when he saw the red lights on the surveillance cameras suddenly switch off, indicating that they were no longer recording. _He's coming._ He quickly picked up his paper and pretended to jerk his head up in surprise when the doors to the penthouse suddenly flew open. He didn’t even flinch as Dex marched right up to the table and leaned over, gripping the edge with both hands.

“What's your game?” Dex asked, sharply.

“Game?” Fisk asked, pretending to  know nothing about what was going on. _What game? I know nothing about a 'game'. I'm just a prisoner under house arrest._

As he anticipated, Dex didn't fall for it. _Liar. You knew I'd watch that tape._ “I don't need any favors from you, convict,” Dex said. He turned around and began walking away. He’d only made it three steps before Fisk spoke up again.

“Favors, no,” Fisk said, “But sympathy…” Dex stopped in his tracks, his shoulders rising and falling as he got his breathing under control. _Sympathy? What the hell does that mean?_ “Papers, protests. The mockery…I can carry this burden of humiliation, but you? You're a dedicated federal agent.”

Dex turned around to face Fisk. “You don't know anything about me,” he hissed, suppressing an urge to just break Fisk's nose. _Just be straight with me, Fisk_.

Fisk shrugged. “Neither does the _Bulletin_.” He nonchalantly laid down the newspaper he was reading and slid it across the table.

Dex paused as he saw what had been printed on the front page. It was a photograph from the scene of the motorcade attack of Agent Andrews being carried by paramedics to a waiting ambulance. The headline read “FBI BOTCHES FISK TRANSFER.” _That’s just bullshit_ , Dex groused. _We didn’t botch anything that night. We were just doing our jobs._

“The press is labeling the attack on my life as an FBI disaster,” Fisk explained, “And now they're investigating you for doing your job. They're questioning you for your exceptionalism. You saved my life! And the lives of honorable federal agents!” _That much is true,_ Dex thought, remembering the gratitude Nadeem had expressed to him in the hallway earlier for ensuring Seema and Sami still had a husband and father who came home to them. “Did they report that? No. Instead, they vilify and demean your act of courage.” Fisk stared down at his hands, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. Then he stood up from his chair. Dex instinctively put one hand on the gun in his shoulder holster, in case Fisk was preparing to attack him, although he knew the odds of his prisoner actually doing such a thing were very low.

“The world is changing,” Fisk finished, “The real heroes are ridiculed and dismissed. And for that, I offer my sympathy.”

Dex stared at Fisk for a solid minute, letting the implications of his words sink in. Fisk really knew how to appeal to that part of him that sought to be validated. It was as if he had been there listening in on Dex venting his frustrations to the therapist. _I guess I was wrong, Fisk. You know me better than I know myself._ Without saying another word, he turned around and exited the penthouse, returning to the command center so he could turn the cameras back on. As Fisk eventually turned in for the night, Dex decided he would at the very least hear more of what Fisk had to say to him tomorrow. Maybe his offer of protection, whatever that entailed, would be enough to help him weather the impending shitstorm OPR was intent on bringing down on him.

* * *

**Lower East Side:**

After several rounds of drinks, Matt, Karen, Foggy and Marci left the Old Homestead, ready to go off their separate ways. Matt went with Foggy and Marci, and the three lawyers took the E train uptown. Foggy and Marci were heading to  set up a campaign office at Nelson's Meats, while Matt needed to go back to his apartment to change into his old Daredevil getup to go observe the gang meeting Felix Manning was holding at Midland Circle on Fisk's behalf. In the meanwhile, Karen took the C train down to West Fourth Street, where she changed to the D train, which she took two stops to Grand Street. As she emerged from the staircase at the northwest corner of Grand and Chrystie Streets, she felt very much determined to get some answers. She needed some, after the long day that she and Matt had had. They had had a few high points that day, learning about Jasper Evans and how exactly Fisk got himself out of prison, and learning the identities of one of the men that Fisk was using to give orders to his soldiers on the outside. But then there were the low points. Fisk apparently learning about Matt’s abilities. Getting information from Silvio Manfredi, only for Manfredi to be promptly killed in a drive-by. Learning the identity of one of Fisk's lieutenants. Her continuing to be paranoid about James Wesley’s death from several years ago, and the possibility that Fisk would find out about that.

While she would have happily gone along with Matt to maybe take pictures of the gang that Felix was meeting with, Karen really wanted to find out just what the FDIC had on Red Lion National Bank, and who at the bank might be on Fisk's payroll. After all, _she_ had uncovered that lead, not Matt. Matt didn't need to come along to every one of her leads, and she didn't need to go along on his Daredevil outings, at least, not until she got some more self-defense training. And after the hit on Manfredi, she really wanted to know how to fight back  more than ever. Fisk's henchmen were not like Todd, or some of those fratboys who tried to steal from her and Todd when they were selling at colleges. These were experienced killers who had years of training under their belts.

Although she had arranged an appointment for tomorrow with Tanya Mills, the FDIC investigator looking into Red Lion, the drive-by shooting and her anger over getting shot at again had really thrown Karen off and left her in a bad mood. She’d decided during dinner that she wouldn't wait until tomorrow, she would just drop by Tanya’s house unannounced tonight to get her answers. She wasn’t sure what Tanya would offer, but at the very least, she might be able to tell her the name of an accomplice or two that Fisk was using to move his money through the bank. Karen figured that if she and Matt acquired the new money man and got him to flip, they might be able to damage not just Fisk, but several of the other crimelords that he might be considering entering business with. Odds were this money man wasn't someone who had an exclusivity contract with Fisk.

Leaving Grand Street station, Karen made her way west to Elizabeth Street, a few blocks into the northern fringes of Chinatown, then turned to walk north. Two blocks away from Tanya’s rowhouse,  while in between Broome and Kenmare Streets, she heard a commotion across the street up ahead of her.  Three young men were hanging out on a front stoop, leering and making catcalls at a passing woman. One of them was lanky and wearing a Yankees baseball cap, and the second had tan skin and a large afro. The third had a beanie hat and a black leather jacket.

“Hey, what's up, yo?” the guy with the Yankee hat called out. He and his friend made kissy faces at the woman, who glared at them with disgust and moved on. Karen stared at them as they turned their attention to a young couple coming up the block. 

“Look at shorty comin',” the afro dude said. He approached the couple. “Hey, hey, let me get your name.”

The woman made a face and quietly turned to her boyfriend. “Let's go around,” she said. The couple crossed the street to the side where Karen was standing to get away from the catcallers. As they did, the three men turned to a group of three young women about Karen’s age.

“What we getting into?” the beanie guy asked. He and his buddies approached this group. “What's up, y'all? Let me get your names.”

“Come on! What we getting into tonight?” the afro dude called out.

These women were smart, and began walking more briskly away to avoid the ogling looks these men were casting in their direction. The guy with the beanie hat decided to try his chances on a single woman in her late forties who walked by a few seconds later.

“Where you going, Ma? We got all night!” The woman didn’t bother listening to him. The beanie dude turned to his friend. “See, that ass is walking away, bro.”

“Yo, that's all you, bro,” his hatless friend replied, That's all you, bro.”

Karen was incensed. Part of her wanted to just ignore the men and move on to talk to Tanya. But the other part of her felt that she had to do something. These thugs were harassing good people who were just going about their business, and someone had to tell them to knock it off. _What's a few minutes delay going to do, anyways?_ She immediately marched across the street and made her way over to the three thugs. _Time to teach them a lesson._

“Now, this is a real lady,” said the guy with the afro as Karen approached them. The two men with the hats began whistling and blowing kisses at her.

“Come here!" the guy with the baseball cap said.

“You coming to say hi? We could have some fun tonight,” said the guy with the beanie hat.

“Yeah, you like fun?” leered the guy with the baseball cap.

Karen glared silently at them. _If you're trying to get laid, you'll have to fight Matt Murdock to get me._ “Get out of my way,” she growled.

The man with the beanie hat seemed impressed. "You got bite. Come on, play with us," he said, sizing her up.

 _Oh, you wanna play, huh? Let’s see how you play with someone who owns a gun?_ Karen reached into her purse and whipped out her gun with her right hand, leaving it hanging by her side. _I'm not gonna shoot 'em. Just scare them a bit._ “Let's play a game,” she snarled, “What do you wanna play? The one where I play scared little girl? 'Cause it seems you like scaring girls.”

The two thugs who were wearing hats quickly took off running, leaving their buddy with the afro to deal with Karen. _Wow, you really are fucking cowards,_ Karen thought. _You act all tough until someone stands up to you._

“It's all good,” the remaining thug started to say, defensively, as Karen advanced on him. “We was just having fun.”

 _Leering at passing women. Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree._ Karen stepped right up to the thug, practically getting in his face. “Let's have fun. Huh?! Who goes first?! You?! Me?!”

“Lady, we were just being friendly,” the thug whimpered, raising his hands. He clearly didn't want to get shot, no more than Karen didn't want to use her gun against him. She'd rather save her gun for Fisk and his lackeys.

 _Not from what I see._ Karen promptly raised her gun and before the thug could react, she clocked him across the face with the barrel of her gun, twice, leaving a nasty cut on his forehead.

The thug staggered back against a garbage can, blood pouring down his face. “What the fuck, lady?!” he yelled. Before he could raise his hands to defend himself, a hot flush swept over Karen's body and she lunged at him, tackling him to the ground and pistol-whipping the defenseless thug several more times in the head. The man's face was a bloody mess and he was coughing up blood from his mouth by the time Karen felt her anger dissipate.

Taking several long breaths, Karen got up and pointed her gun directly at the thug's head. “Then this is just a friendly reminder that games like that can get your head blown off!” she seethed, “Why are you still here?!”

Getting the message, the thug stood up, took off, though with a potential concussion from how many times Karen had struck him, he wasn't exactly very fast. Karen breathed deeply as she watched him disappear into the night. _Yeah, you run. You’ll have a nice reminder of the one time a woman refused to put up with your bullshit_. She smiled as she felt a jolt of…well, arousal coursing through her body. She didn’t know what triggered it. Was it because these catcallers were the kinds of lowlives that Matt would’ve similarly dished out punishment to, or was it something else?

 _You’ve got a mission, Karen._ Karen dismissed those thoughts just as quickly as they came and made it the rest of the way to Tanya Mills’ address, a nondescript rowhouse on the west side of Elizabeth Street just below Spring Street.

When she knocked on the front door, she was greeted by an African-American woman with a huge afro that made her look like Misty Knight if she still had her old right arm and worked at the FDIC instead of at the NYPD.

“Miss Page, what are you doing here?” Tanya asked.

“I know that we had an appointment for tomorrow,” Karen said, apologetically, “But what we have to talk about can’t wait until then.”

Tanya shook her head. “This is my home,” she protested, “My family is upstairs.” 

“I know, I'm sorry,” Karen said, sticking her head into the doorway. She didn’t like having to intrude on family affairs, but unfortunately, time was of the essence, and the sooner she had her information on whoever at Red Lion was on Fisk’s payroll, the sooner Matt could use that information to chip away at the mob boss’s support pillars. 

“You're lucky I'm willing to talk to you, _period_ ,” Tanya replied, “If my bosses at the FDIC found out I was talking about Red Lion National Bank?” She paused, the unspoken _"...I'll lose my job"_ apparent to Karen. “And how the hell did you get my address? Did Ellison put you up-“ 

“ _No._ Ellison doesn't know that I'm here. He doesn't know that I reached out to you,” Karen replied, shaking her head. “I know, that looks bad-“

“And if you did, you wouldn't be standing here,” she observed, dryly. 

“Look, the sooner you tell me about Red Lion, the sooner I go.” Karen lowered her voice to a whisper. “Wilson Fisk is laundering his money through that bank. We're talking millions of dollars.” _And lots of innocent lives are at stake._  

“Honey, who's at the door?” a female voice echoed from inside the house. 

Tanya turned around to answer whoever it was that was with her tonight. “Someone from work,” she answered. Karen could hear footsteps echoing in the distance as Tanya focused her attention back on her. 

“The FDIC has to be monitoring a bank involved-“ Karen started to say.

“We're done here.” Tanya began to close the door in Karen’s face. Karen stuck her foot in the door to stop it from shutting.

 _We’re not finished, lady!_ “HEY!” she shouted. Tanya reluctantly opened the door again. “No, I just-I need proof! Give me a contact at the bank!” Karen demanded, desperation seeping into her voice. 

“I'll be having words with Ellison in the morning,” Tanya said, coldly. Her tone made clear that she was probably seconds away from calling the cops on Karen to have her escorted away. 

“Give me a name, you will never see me again!” Karen pleaded. She couldn’t let such a vital lead slip, and she didn’t want to get in trouble with Ellison for harassing a source at her home. That was a serious breach of journalistic ethics. Not that she cared at all. And that was before the fact that she was  already breaching a dozen other ethics guidelines as it was by working on a story regarding a man with a vendetta against her, and sleeping with one of her main sources... 

The woman that was in the house with Tanya, who Karen surmised to be her wife, came downstairs, unable to resist checking in on the ruckus. She probably thought Karen was some really aggressive door-to-door saleswoman or something. “Honey, what's going on?”  

Tanya glanced at her spouse, then back at Karen. “There's only two names worth checking into,” she said, in a hushed voice, “and good luck squeezing anything out of either of them.” 

“Who?” Karen asked. 

“Felix Manning and Stewart Finney,” Tanya answered.

 _Okay, I know Felix Manning. That's the guy that the assassins at the diner said hired them for the Kazemi attack. The guy that…that Matt is going off to observe tonight. I don't know anything about Stewart Finney, though._ “Thank you,” Karen breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank me by getting the hell off my property,” Tanya said, with a stony look on her face.

“Sorry…” Karen backed out as Tanya practically slammed the door in her face.  _Whoa. This may be easier for us than we thought,_ Karen thought, as she gathered herself on Tanya’s front stoop and began making her way to the nearest subway stop, which for her was now Spring Street on the Lexington Avenue Line.

As she left the 6 train at Canal Street and transferred to the Q train to return uptown to Times Square-42nd Street, Karen realized that she’d struck the jackpot. From what that one thug at the diner had suggested when Matt was interrogating him prior to the drive-by shooting, she’d gotten the impression that Felix Manning was a _caporegime_ that Fisk had promoted to underboss to replace Wesley. That he was the new right-hand man and mouthpiece that Fisk used to convey orders to his button men while making it harder for them to implicate him in any crimes. But what Tanya had just revealed to her, right now, suggested that Felix was not just Fisk’s new James Wesley, but also his new Leland Owlsley, and that he had an assistant named Stewart Finney assisting him in handling Owlsley's former job. Karen couldn’t help but smile widely as she realized that Felix was an even weaker link than they'd initially thought. She made a mental note to do a background check on Felix to see if there was anything on him that she could use to pressure him into turning against Fisk.

* * *

The subject of Matt and Karen’s interest was, at that very moment in time, in the backseat of a black Cadillac Escalade, being escorted by his bodyguards to Midland Circle for what he hoped would be a pretty straightforward meeting.

Felix was very much on-board with Fisk’s proposed protection racket, imposing a tax on all crime families in the city in exchange for federal prosecutions being dropped, and using the FBI agents on Fisk's detail as enforcers. It would be an easy way for Fisk to gain large amounts of new turf without having to resort to war. It helped they had a substantial number of the detail's agents on their payroll and could use the threat of the FBI coming down on them to scare gangs into paying up. Fisk preferred this method to just outright going to war. The war that happened when Fisk and Wesley had allowed the Triads and Yakuza into Hell’s Kitchen and forced the Kitchen Irish out ten years ago had been pretty bloody and messy, and left countless bodies and a lot of police scrutiny, although the head bosses were able to avoid indictments.  Fisk didn’t want to have a repeat of that now, especially when he didn't want any scrutiny from the NYPD or non-corrupt FBI personnel. So he’d directed Felix to start engaging in diplomacy now so that they could stave off potential problems in the future.

In preparations for the day that Fisk got out, Felix had kept tabs on the other gangs in the city to see which ones could be persuaded to pay the protection tax without them having to send FBI agents to kidnap their heads.  It didn’t take much research to find four in particular that would be very ripe for brokering deals with, all of whom had recently been dealt major blows as a result of incidents involving superpowered vigilantes. Two of them were Chinatown based gangs, the Golden Tigers and the Yangshi Gonshi. They’d recently signed a peace treaty following a lengthy gang war that had left multiple casualties on both sides, not helped by that Davos dude with the glowing red fist launching attacks on both parties using his own splinter faction of teenage street kids from the neighborhood. Both of them were perfect for the taking. With all the violence that had happened, they were being subject to a lot of extra heat from the NYPD, and Felix was certain that they would be content with sacrificing a small percentage of their profits in exchange for Fisk’s ongoing protection. He was scheduled to have a meeting with them on Saturday night to negotiate terms.

The third and fourth gangs were the ones that Felix was meeting with tonight.  The first one he would be dealing with tonight would be the Carbones.  Their matron, Rosalie Carbone, was a pragmatic businesswoman, who used money from her gun and drug smuggling ventures to invest in real estate across Harlem and Queens. The 57 year old woman was the daughter of Julius Carbone, a mafioso who had been a business partner to Rigoletto, and later to Fisk. Julius had been one of a few people who knew the truth about Fisk's past, and tried to blackmail Fisk about it. In response, Fisk had a team comprised of John Healy, Stewart Schmidt and Joseph Pike throw him in front of a subway train in the fall of 2012 upon his release from prison, kicking off a purge that later saw the demise of Karnelli, Don Rigoletto and other mafia dons who were suspected to have knowledge of what he'd done to his father, or who would protest Fisk's regime changes. Rosalie Carbone was also in desperate need of help. She’d lost a fair amount of money and territory in Harlem after Luke Cage had brokered a peace treaty with her and the Puerto Rican gang boss Anibal Izqueda, which had made some sort of No Man's Land within Harlem, and forced both gangs to start making moves into territory outside of Harlem.

Izqueda was the other boss Felix was scheduled to meet with tonight, at a parking garage in Spanish Harlem. Felix, was less sure that Izqueda would be willing to cooperate with them. Apparently, he was not the kind who liked having to answer to others, and he had not been as happy with the terms of the Cage deal. It was very likely that he'd have to be killed. But that wasn't a problem for Felix. Fisk would benefit whether or not Izqueda lived or died. If he lived, more money would be flowing into Fisk's pockets from Harlem. If he died, they could use it as a means of intimidating other gangs into paying the tax.

The possibility of the Izqueda meeting going south made Felix a little queasy. So he decided to block it out and focus on the meeting he was currently about to have with Carbone. Felix had been pragmatic when deciding the meeting location. He knew that they couldn’t conduct the meeting in the war room in Fisk’s penthouse because the FBI guards would’ve seen her. And he didn’t want to do the meeting at her fancy mansion in Italian Harlem, because she’d have the homefield advantage. So, after a bit of back and forth with Rosalie's consigliere, it was arranged that the meeting was to be held on the vacant lot formerly occupied by Midland Circle Financial. It was neutral enough territory that Felix felt no one would have an advantage, plus there’d be convenient access to their cars in the event of a hostile attack. While he was aware that such an open space left them all vulnerable to potential snipers who might be hiding in any one of the adjacent buildings, he had every reason to think that Rosalie would be willing to at least listen to him, and then decide. Especially considering their long history.

Just before nine o’clock that night, Felix’s three-Escalade convoy arrived at the Midland Circle address, parking on the curb adjacent to the vacant lot, which was fenced off with a chainlink fence. There was a small hole, which had been cut in the fence by vandals, which was just big enough for people to walk through.

His driver got out and opened the door to let Felix out.

Felix got out, straightening his jacket as he did. He checked the street in both directions just to be certain that no one was waiting for them.

He could see Rosalie’s armed bodyguards waiting with their trio of Escalades, parked in three spaces directly across the street from them. To differentiate her vehicles from his, Rosalie’s cars had little Italian flag decals painted on the driver's side doors.

_Good, she’s taking this seriously._

Felix quickly turned to his trusted driver, Charlie, and spoke to him quietly.

“...Keep an eye on the cars. Got it, Charlie?”

“Yes, Mr. Manning,” Charlie nodded.

“Attaboy, Charlie,” Felix said, patting him on the back.

Felix took a deep breath, gathered three of his bodyguards from the lead car, and they stepped through the chainlink fence one at a time.

As he made his way across the vacant lot, he couldn’t help but find it hard to believe that just three months ago, there was a giant 40 story skyscraper standing here. Now, it was just a vacant plot of grass, in the middle of a newly re-gentrified part of Hell's Kitchen. It was a pretty ugly scar, if you asked him. It reminded him of the empty lots of grass at Second Avenue and Seventh Street in the East Village, reminders of a gas explosion in March 2015 that destroyed  three adjoining buildings and killed two people. Felix had heard rumors that Midland Circle was a cover for some sort of illegal digging project that Madame Gao and Nobu were running, allegedly involving prehistoric dragons, or something like that? He wasn’t able to find anyone who’d give him a straight answer. If there was indeed a giant hole on the property, it had presumably been filled in very well, to the point that you wouldn't even know it was there.

Rosalie was standing in the middle of the lot, flanked by her consigliere Mickey Condozzi, and three of her own bodyguards. She looked pretty tonight, decked out in her finest jewelry and wearing a fancy black mink coat, like she was attending the theatre, not having a meeting to discuss an illegal business transaction.

It was difficult to tell who looked more uncomfortable. Rosalie seemed like she’d rather they held this meeting somewhere else, while Felix himself couldn't help but think about James Wesley, the man he'd mentored heavily. What he was doing tonight, acting as Fisk's spokesperson in negotiating with another gang, this was the sort of thing that Wesley had been doing three years ago.

“You’re right on time, Felix,” Rosalie remarked. Felix stepped forward and shook hands with her.  

“You look beautiful as always, Miss Carbone,” Felix commented.

“You can call me Rosalie, Felix,” she said. “How are things going on with Red Lion?”

“Financially secure,” Felix said, “You know, you really should consider hiring me to manage your funds. Ever since Luke Cage took away your territory in Harlem.”

Rosalie sighed and shook her head, smiling faintly. “The Hero of Harlem,” she mused. She laughed. “I think the papers should really call him the Godfather of Harlem now. Did you know he now owns Mariah Dillard’s old club?”

“Yes, I heard. It was very unfortunate what happened to the councilwoman,” he said, solemnly, “She was a good customer, and a very loyal business partner.”

“Some will miss her,” Rosalie said, “Not me. Given how poorly she fucked up that war with Bushmaster, especially that Rum Punch Massacre shit, I wish I was the one who personally administered that poison to her. With her gone, maybe I can accomplish what my father had intended when he tried to drive her grandfather out 40 years ago.”

Felix nodded and smiled in appreciation. He knew the story very well, almost like it was yesterday.

“But that's in the past,” Rosalie said, abruptly, flipping to her business persona. “Is there something urgent you needed to speak to me, Felix?”

“Well the fact of the matter is that I'm here on behalf of Wilson Fisk,” Felix said, ready to talk business. Rosalie seemed to pause at the mention of Fisk’s name. Nonetheless, Felix pressed on. “He regrets that his current situation makes it impossible for him to come tonight. So I’ve been sent in his place.”

Rosalie cleared her throat. “What does Fisk want?” she asked, sharply.

“I beg your pardon?” Felix said.

“Don’t pretend to be ignorant with me, Felix, we all know the game Fisk just pulled on the Albanians to get himself into that cushy penthouse,” Rosalie’s voice hardened. Felix just stared at her. “What, you didn’t know that word travels fast in our circles?”

“Come on, the Albanians, they’re a liability,” Felix got defensive, doing his best to hide Fisk’s real motivations. No one but him, Fisk, Lincoln, Burbank, and Ornstein were aware of the truth behind Fisk’s deal with Ray Nadeem, or his whole false flag operation with Jasper Evans. Even he felt most potential allies would probably balk if they found out how he really got out. “Besides, Rigoletto and your father, they always believed in cooperating with law enforcement to stop cop killers.”

“Right,” Rosalie put her hands on her hips. “He sure did.”

Felix extended a hand and patted Rosalie on her shoulder. “Fisk would like to offer you a gift.”

“A gift?” Rosalie repeated, sounding skeptical.

“Fisk has recently come into some big acquisitions here,” Felix explained, “He would like to give you an offer of protection.”

“Protection,” Rosalie spat the word out like it was a dirty swear word, “I don't need protection.”

Felix set his jaw and looked her directly in the eye. “Allow me to explain. You've said your recent problems with Luke Cage cost you considerable amounts of territory in Harlem.”

“Fuck yeah,” she muttered. “Cage has decreed that we can’t do any official business above 114th or below 150th. From Harlem River Drive to the West Side Highway.  His rules. I'm having to push my people into Hell's Kitchen here to get away from these vigilante freaks. I mean, we don't have the Devil of Hell's Kitchen here anymore, unless of course that was him that Karen Page wrote about in the _Bulletin_ the other day. On top of that, Ma Gnucci's threatening war on me for enroaching upon her territory.”

“Fisk would like to help you,” Felix said.

“How?" Rosalie asked, uncertain.

Felix cleared his throat. "We're happy to offer you a 40% stake in the docks. Improved shipping routes for your guns and your product.”

Rosalie looked to her advisor, standing to her right, then back at Felix.

“Access,” she repeated.

“Yes,” Felix said, “He also is willing to provide you with additional buttons in the event that the Gnuccis try to hit you.”

Rosalie’s advisor whispered something into her ear. Felix stood intently, and thought he saw her scowl at whatever her advisor was saying.

“Anything else?” she asked.

Now it was time for Felix to sell the main item of business. He cleared his throat. "Ah yes, the _piece de resistence_. He's also willing to provide you protection from prosecution and investigation by the federal government.”

Rosalie seemed incredulous. “How so?” she asked, probing for more details.

Felix grimaced and motioned with his hand. “Let’s just say Fisk has managed to obtain considerable influence over some key people within the FBI and the US Attorney’s office,” he stated, plainly.

From the look on her face, Rosalie still didn’t buy it. She still seemed convinced that Fisk was going to double cross her. “Is there a price to this?”

“A certain percentage of your profits,” he answered, “You’ll make the check out to Red Lion and we will ensure that if you should ever get jammed up by the Feds, any investigations against you or your people will just...disappear.” He made a _swish_ motion with his hand.

Rosalie pondered the proposal for a moment. She consulted her advisor, whispering about what Felix took to be her financial assets. It was a steep tax, but Rosalie ought to have enough cash that whatever payment she made would still be like pocket change.

After a moment, she snapped her head up and faced Felix again. “How much?” she asked.

Felix smiled. “That number will be determined at a meeting next week,” he said, “You’re expected to be there, as will a few other players that are receiving this same pitch that you are receiving right now.”

“Wait.” Rosalie’s breath hitched. “There are others? You mean…" She laughed nervously. "This is protection money, isn't it?”

“You’re not the only businesswoman who’s suffered setbacks thanks to these new vigilantes who are running amok,” Felix said, in his most polite voice, trying to frame it as a good thing, “I probably shouldn't be saying this, but if you want to know, we're also negotiating with the Golden Tigers and Yangshi Gonshi, just to name a few others who will be there who will be sitting down at the table.”

“Right, the participants of the great Hatchet war of 2017-2018,” she said, “The ones crippled by that Indian asshole with a red fist. Their leaders were good people. Hai-Qing Yang. Ho. They didn't deserve that."”

“No they didn't,” Felix said. He straightened up. “Nevertheless, Fisk feels that this protection will be enough to help you, and the Tigers and the Hatchets and god-knows-who-else find your feet again. And who knows, maybe you guys can all band together to help each other out in times of need. Expand your operations. Maybe even make more money.”

Rosalie’s advisor took her aside and whispered something else into her ear.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Felix asked.

“As someone who has yet to actually invest in Red Lion," Rosalie bit her lip, "I can trust that my money will be safe with you?”

Felix smirked. “Safer than in the Bank of England," he said. "As well as every bank in Switzerland."

Rosalie nodded slowly. She seemed to have everything she felt she needed.

“Okay,” she finally said. "I guess that settles it. We're in business then." She shook hands with Felix, gathered her guards, and began walking towards the hole in the fence through which they’d all entered. Felix and his guards followed her out, staying behind them as they approached his convoy.

Felix didn’t take his eyes off Rosalie until his driver opened the door to his car and ushered him in.

“One last thing, Felix,” she suddenly said. _I think I should bring Leslie in on this. If I'm getting protection, they should get it too._

Felix set his jaw and turned to face her.

“...I know you've approached me, but I got some partners out in Brooklyn that need to be notified about this change. If Fisk is okay with it, I'd like to extend his offer out to them.”

“Who exactly?”

"The Poloznevs, the Konchevskys, and Lindsey Costa. Her dad and mine used to have a partnership with Rigoletto back in the day."

 _Another valuable customer who will be worth the investment._ Felix nodded and smiled. "It's already being taken care of, Rosalie."

Rosalie nodded in silent agreement.

"Great,” she said. "I'll tell her your pitch first thing tomorrow morning. I ought to get the rest to come  around by next week."

"Take care. Keep in touch with us."

With that, Felix and his entourage pulled away from the curb. As they drove, Felix got on his cell phone and contacted Fisk. Fisk should have turned in by now, and he'd insisted on getting the news on the deal with Carbone as soon as the meeting was over.

“Is it settled?” Fisk said as he picked up.

"Carbone agrees to all of our terms," Felix replied. "She's in." Straight to the point.

"That's good," Fisk said. "And Izqueda?"

"I'm on my way to see him," Felix reported, "He's a bit more vitriolic than Carbone...but I think I can convince him to accept as well."

"Mmm-hmmm," Fisk murmured, "How is the progress on Agent Poindexter?"

Felix paused, remembering what Fisk had asked of him by way of Donovan that Tuesday night, after Donovan's encounter with Daredevil and Karen Page in the hotel's parking garage. He'd asked for a couple of men to shadow Dex and find out everything there was to know about the FBI sharpshooter's personal life. "He has a woman he spies on every evening. My sources say her name is Julie Barnes, and that the two of them have a bit of history.”

“…I see. Will she pose an issue for my plan?”

"No, sir, not at the moment," Felix said. "In fact, we've reached out to her and given her a job at the Presidential, so we can more properly study her. She starts tomorrow."

Fisk clicked his tongue. "Thank you, Felix. Report to me as soon as Izqueda has been handled.”

“I will keep you posted, sir," Felix said.

* * *

Rosalie and her entourage watched as Felix’s cars pulled away from the curb, headed east.

The street and sidewalk were now practically deserted. This part of Hell’s Kitchen really emptied out at night, enough so that you could probably hear a pin drop. Rosalie stood there, gathering herself and adjusting his coat. She was still skeptical as ever as to whether Fisk’s deal was genuine or a setup to get her out of the way, but Felix had made some rather compelling arguments. After the increased police scrutiny in the wake of the Stokes-Stylers war, plus the deal she’d made with Luke Cage to keep organized crime out of Harlem, she did need some extra support to get back on her feet, especially if she wanted to keep her partnerships with the Costas afloat. If it meant selling her soul to Fisk in order to maintain the peace, so be it. Who knew, maybe Fisk could get them access to better Hammer weapons that would allow them to depose Luke Cage.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she thought she heard the sounds of fighting coming from across the street. More specifically…the section of sidewalk where her three car motorcade was stopped. _What the hell?_ Rosalie thought, craning her neck as she peered through the gaps between the cars. Under the light of the streetlamp that covered that section of sidewalk, she could see figures moving.  _Is that..._ _Daredevil?_ She motioned to her bodyguards to draw their guns, and they cautiously began making their way towards the cars. Three of them split off to the right, while her chief advisor/head of security, Mickey, accompanied Rosalie around to the left. As Rosalie rounded the hood of the lead Escalade, the first thing she saw was her driver Emilio being thrown towards her. Emilio crashed into Mickey, and they both landed in a heap.

Chaos raged on the sidewalk. Rosalie’s other bodyguards were actively engaged in various states of fighting—and apparently losing to—a tall masked man dressed in black pants and under-armor from head-to-toe, and wearing a familiar looking Zorro mask. It took her a moment to recognize the figure in front of him: it was Daredevil,  dressed in that old black costume he’d worn when the papers first caught wind of his existence.

Daredevil was struggling with three of Rosalie’s guards.  Another of her men, Fabio, was leaning against the tires of the rear Escalade, wheezing and clutching his left arm, which was bent at an impossible angle. Two more guards appeared to have already been knocked unconscious, sprawled out on the sidewalk near the base of the streetlamp. By the middle Escalade, Daredevil moved impressively fast, thrashing one of her men while effectively blocking the other two.

Rosalie stared, fascinated more than anything. She had a reputation for always maintaining her composure even in the face of physical danger. If Luke Cage storming into her mansion and breaking Mickey’s fingers one at a time wasn’t enough to get her to flinch, then Daredevil beating up a bunch of her men wouldn’t do so either. As she watched, the bodyguards who had accompanied her into the vacant lot joined into the fray. Daredevil dispatched them just as easily as he’d already taken care of those who’d waited by the cars. He redoubled his efforts, unleashing a fury of kicks and punches, dodging his assailants’ blows with unmatched finesse and grace that made Luke look like a wimp. Soon there were only two men left, one of them Mickey.

From behind Daredevil, Mickey grabbed at his face, yanking his head back by the neck. Daredevil yelped as he lost his grip on the other guard with him, who was able to hook him in the chin. Daredevil spun around, and drove his fist straight into Mickey’s throat, and followed that up by jabbing him in the temple with his elbow. Mickey staggered backwards against the middle Escalade and collapsed to the ground, wheezing and bleeding from the forehead. Now he was down to one last guard, who launched an attack. Daredevil twisted his arm and flipped him over his shoulder. His head cracked loudly against the glass window of the passenger’s side door, though not breaking it, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Matt had made the decision while listening to the meeting from across the street that he needed to dissuade Rosalie from sticking to the deal. Felix was too deeply loyal to Fisk, to the point that he suspected physical threats wouldn't break him. So as soon as Felix and his men had driven away, Matt had promptly engaged Rosalie's guards, with the intent of warning Rosalie what Fisk did to people when he was done with them. Once he'd taken down all of her guards, Matt walked up to Rosalie, stopping about three feet away from her. Her heartbeat didn’t change even a fraction the whole time that she’d watched her men being pummeled.

“Daredevil,” she complimented, “Your reputation really precedes you.” 

Matt was in no mood to deal with a crime matron’s compliments on fashion sense. “I’m not here to make friends, Miss Carbone,” Matt said. “This deal you have with Wilson Fisk is off the table.”

Rosalie bit her tongue. “Wow, you sound so much like Luke Cage when you say that. Are you friends?” she asked, casually, like she was asking about the weather.

Matt snorted. _I wouldn’t say we were friends. Foggy got him out of jail, and I only ever worked with him for a few days to defeat the Hand._ “I'm stopping Fisk and anyone else who's in bed with him,” he said. “That includes you if you don’t back your people out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Rosalie stood her ground as Matt stepped closer to her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, firmly.

“Your home turf is Harlem,” Matt said, confused. _Why now Hell's Kitchen?_

“It was until Cage made it off-limits,” Rosalie replied.

Matt made a face. Rosalie had mentioned to Felix that Luke had imposed some sort of virtual wall around Harlem inside which no organized crime was allowed of any kind. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Rosalie sighed. “Cage made a deal with me and Izqueda a couple months ago that we’d end our beef with Hong and Yangshi-Gonshi and move our business out of Harlem. I had to sacrifice a lot of highly profitable territory.”

“I see,” Matt said, putting his hands on his hips. An idea came into his head as he remembered something Karen had to said to him in her office earlier that day. Fisk was seeking new business partners ever since he got rid of the Russians and his contacts with the Hand. And the proposed protection offer that Felix was pitching to Rosalie, it sounded like one where Fisk could easily sic the FBI on her if she stepped out of line. There was one way to slow Fisk down and that would be to warn any new partners just what exactly he was willing to do with loose ends. “Even so, you're making a big mistake going into business with Wilson Fisk.”

“And why not?” she asked. “His offer of protection is as good as it gets, and I’m willing to pay a small price to get a little peace of mind. In fact, I'm considering paying him a little extra now so as to protect me from the likes of you.”

Matt sighed. “Do you really think you’ll be safe because you pay him more? Fisk has betrayed everyone he’s ever worked with. Sooner or later, when you are no longer worth keeping around, your number will be up.”

“I doubt that'll happen,” Rosalie said, her voice not wavering, “My Russian and Italian friends  in other boroughs who would have no problem shooting up buildings and taking out that hotel, Moscow style, to avenge me if he took me out. We make too much money together as it were. And those guys, they make the Avengers look like mall cops.”

 _The Russians._ Rosalie did business with Russian gangs. _And so did Fisk_. Matt was pretty certain that Rosalie had never done business with the Ranskahovs, but she had to have heard about the ways in which they died. Knowing Fisk, Matt suspected that the Russian crime families that controlled Southern Brooklyn would be the first to be taken out if Rosalie began to falter, as a message.

“These Russian friends of yours,” he said, grimacing, “They never happened to include Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov, did they?”

Rosalie’s reaction suggested her knowledge of them was limited to a few acquaintances at best. “Never worked with them. But I know their work.”

“Well they used to operate here in Hell's Kitchen thanks to an alliance with Fisk,” Matt said, “Until one day when Fisk decapitated Anatoly for intruding on his private life. And then he blew up a bunch of buildings all over this neighborhood to get rid of Vladimir.”

Rosalie stood there, impassively, unsurprised by Matt’s revelation. “The way I hear it, Fisk did a community service by exterminating them,” she shrugged. “They were getting sloppy, trying to deal with you. Attracting too much attention from the five-0.”

Matt shook his head. “He did the same thing to his connections with the Japanese and the Chinese. By the time he was arrested, all of Fisk’s business partners were dead or on the run. And with the exception of James Wesley, all of them were by his own hand.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Your point?”

“Because a day is going to come when Fisk is going to decide he doesn’t need you anymore, and he’s gonna hang you out, six feet under,” Matt said, stepping even closer to her. “Just ask Silvio Manfredi.”

He heard groaning sounds as one of Rosalie’s bodyguards who’d escorted her into the vacant lot began to regain consciousness. It was time to end this meeting and head home.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Rosalie replied.

“Oh he’ll be in all of tomorrow morning’s papers,” Matt said, walking away. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He could feel Rosalie’s piercing gaze as he left her there on the sidewalk, surrounded with a bunch of battered and wounded bodyguards. As Matt made his way back to his apartment, stopping a mugging and an attempted convenience store robbery along the way, it struck him that there was one more line of attack on his and Karen's front in the war against Fisk. _Rosalie_ _Carbone. That’s a familiar name. Wait…_ Ben's information had established that Julius Carbone who got hit by a train about five years ago. And Silvio had said that Rosalie was his niece. Clearly the threat of being double crossed by Wilson Fisk wasn’t enough to sway Rosalie. But if indeed her father's death was the work of a hit carried out on Fisk's orders, and he could prove it, she might just rethink her position. Matt made a mental note to get in touch with Luke soon. Rosalie hailed from Harlem, and that was Luke’s territory. He might be a more ideal messenger to pass on whatever Matt and Karen discovered. Plus, Matt kinda felt guilty about how he and Karen hadn't bothered to check in with him following Silvio's murder, which Luke ought to have heard about since it happened on his turf.

For the first time since that morning in the prison exam room, Matt felt optimistic, and a grin stretched across his face as he neared his apartment as an idea crossed his mind: they could start a war between Fisk and Rosalie. It would leave bodies, yes. There'd probably be innocents caught in the crossfire. But desperate times called for desperate measures. There was a tradeoff, in that a war could distract Fisk, and give Matt and Karen more time to hunt down more critical loose ends like Jasper Evans who had damning goods on him.

* * *

It was 9:30 pm by the time Karen reentered hers and Matt’s apartment, exhausted and drained. She still couldn’t believe everything that had just gone down that day. Matt got caught in a prison riot. They got shot at during the assassination of an informant of hers. She pistol-whipped some creep who was making catcalls at women. And between Jasper Evans and Red Lion Bank, they’d learned of two possible weak threads that they could pull on to put Fisk back in prison, or at the very least, throw him off balance and get him to make mistakes big enough for the NYPD to build the case against him that the FBI were refusing to do. Hitting both of them, as well as whatever gang Felix Manning was meeting at Midland Circle, would be enough to cripple Fisk.

Karen sat down on the couch, and fired up her laptop to do a little research on Stewart Finney and Felix Manning.

First up was Stewart Finney. From what Karen was able to find on him, he had an MBA from the Harvard Business School, and a low level genius IQ. He was a mortgage analyst at a lower Manhattan branch of the Manhattan Trust while still in his twenties. That was, until about eight years ago, when he made a deal that ended up double-crossing the brother of some bigwig in the Justice Department. One year later, he got convicted and ended up in Rikers Island. And that was where he stayed until mid-2016, when he somehow persuaded his defense counsel, the law firm of Caplan & Dahill, to reopen his case and accuse the government of malicious prosecution and violations of his eighth amendment rights against cruel and unusual punishment, and produced evidence that proved his case. His conviction ended up being overturned on appeal and retrial, and he got released, immediately taking up a new job as a loan officer at Red Lion. It was around that same time that all of Fisk's business was transferred to Red Lion, his dummy companies, sub companies, and whatnot. He was one of the new money men, the new bookkeeper.

Finney was unmarried, with no wife or children to look after. He once had a summer house in the Hamptons, which had been seized by the government when he got sent away, and later returned to him. But he'd evidently sold that property after he got out. Thus, to find him, Karen turned to the  _Bulletin_ database and ran down the property records index until she found a property in his name. It was a two-bedroom condo at The Hub in Downtown Brooklyn, where he had a commanding view of the East River, the Financial District, and Coney Island. It was a long way from being locked up, especially since he didn't live alone. By a stroke of sheer luck, he had a live-in girlfriend, Kendra Byrnes. She was an associate attorney at Donovan  & Partners, Fisk's law firm. _Small world, huh. I guess Fisk really wants to keep his flunkies close to one another._

Felix Manning was harder to dig up information on. Karen was able to determine at minimum that he was a fixer, the kind of person that rich people with an awful lot of money would hire to do their dirty work. With that sort of title, it was no wonder she and Matt had been led to assume he was a replacement for Wesley, as Wesley had been more or less the face of Fisk's organization up until his death. Google didn’t have much along the lines of usable information for Karen regarding Felix’s potential criminal connections, but what little she was able to find suggested that he was a freelancer. If that was the case, Fisk was probably not the only client that Felix currently did services for. She had no idea what the strength of Felix’s loyalty to Fisk was compared to Wesley, but she had a gut feeling that she could find something to disrupt that loyalty. Perhaps she could mention to him how Fisk turned on his partners. Or maybe even mention how the last person in charge of Fisk’s money ended up dead. And if Felix had been intimidated into working for Fisk, she was going to find whatever that was and persuade Felix to go on record with her for the _Bulletin_. 

But all that could wait until morning. After about a half hour of research, Karen desperately needed a shower. She stripped off her clothes, grabbed her long-sleeve pinstripe pajamas from one of her drawers in the bedroom, and made her way to the bathroom. There was something calm and soothing about taking a nice hot shower at the end of a long day. It gave her time to unwind and process everything that had happened. Which was to say, a lot. But as she let the water cascade over her skin, for whatever reason, all she could think about was sex. The feelings of arousal that she’d felt when she’d cold-cocked that catcaller with her gun were quickly beginning to resurface. At once, she began recounting the events of two nights ago, as she and Matt had made love for the first time. She could almost feel Matt pinning her down on the mattress and ravaging her like no other man in her life had done before, moaning as she remembered his tongue exploring her nether-regions. 

After about a half hour, Karen stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and changed into her pajamas. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to make an attempt to contact Felix to see if he’d talk to her, so she sat down on the bed, grabbed her phone, and contacted Red Lion Bank’s main number, using directory assistance. It was after banking hours, but their answering service would be running at this time and any messages would be passed to Felix when he got in tomorrow morning. 

 _“You have reached Red Lion National Bank,”_ said the female voice used for the answering service, _“Our offices are currently closed at this time, but please leave your name and number at the tone and we will get back to you._ ”

“Hello,” Karen said, “My name is Karen Page. I’m a reporter with the _New York Bulletin_. The _Bulletin_ would like to arrange an interview with Felix Manning concerning allegations that Red Lion is involved in laundering money for Wilson Fisk. If Mr. Manning is available tomorrow, could he get in touch with me as soon as possible? Thank you, good bye.”  

No sooner had she hung up and plugged her phone back into the fast charger as she heard the sound of the roof access door opening. _Matt’s gotten back_. She smiled and got up from the bed, those feelings of sexual arousal coursing through her body again. She reentered the living room, just Matt began coming down the stairs, looking exhausted as hell. Karen couldn’t help but think about what Marci had been saying at dinner. Something about how she should consider slamming Matt against the wall and having her way with him. She moved to intercept him as he hit the bottom step.  “Hey,” she said.

"Hey," he said. He could sense that her heart was pounding rapidly, and could smell the arousal on her skin, mixed in with the scent of shampoo in her wet hair and water on her skin. "You okay?"

As Karen stared at him, Matt pulled off his mask and put it on the post at the base of the stair railing, and kicked off his shoes. There was just something adorable about Matt’s mussed up mask hair that made her want to run her fingers through it all night long.

“Things go okay with the whole gang deal?” she asked.

Matt smiled. “Yeah, they did. Better than I expected.” 

Karen stepped over to him, placing a hand on his chest.

“I think we’ve got a whole bunch of new leads to use against Fisk-“ he started to say, but Karen interrupted him by suddenly shoving him against the wall. Before he could open his mouth to protest, her lips were on his.

Matt caught his breath in surprise, but recovered immediately, kissing her back, like he'd die if he let go of her. His hands instinctively went to her waist, pulling her closer. Eventually, he had to break the kiss to get some air. Karen remained standing there, her forehead pressed against his.

“Matt,” she whispered, licking her lips.

“Are you all right?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Yes,” she whispered.

"Don't you want to hear what I found spying on Felix Manning?" he tried to ask.

"Later," Karen began dropping kisses on the side of his neck, "After you pull one more heroic mission."

Next thing she knew, Karen found herself being pushed up against the wall, with Matt's lips over hers. His arms were gripping her tight, holding her in place, while he assaulted her senses. All the while, she explored the incredible man in front of her as well, although with her hands. She ran her hands over his loose shirt, but wasn't satisfied with all the fabric in the way. So her hands slipped under it and she ran her nails along his broad chest up to his nipples, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He briefly broke the kiss in order to pull the shirt over his head.  Now that Matt was shirtless, Karen was even more aroused, dropping a kiss on the bottom of his neck as he tossed his shirt aside, before her lips reattached to his.

This kiss was passionate and demanding. Matt’s hands roamed over her back, finally settling on her torso and pressing her against him. Another surge of fire ran through Karen when she felt his erection against her stomach, causing her to moan.   Her legs suddenly felt way too weak to support her, but she didn't even notice because she was too busy exploring his mouth. Before she even had time to realize that she was falling, Matt’s strong arms caught her. She felt herself being lifted into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her into the bedroom. The whole time, she continued hungrily mashing her lips against his, not holding back at all. His heightened senses gave him an advantage, allowing him to make out with her and guide her towards the bed without stubbing a toe or accidentally colliding with any furniture. As he lowered her onto the mattress and she felt the comfort of the silk sheets and pillows on her back, she didn’t let go of him and he ended up on top of her.

The next hour was a blur of passion. Clothes were hurriedly divested and hands were urgently exploring each other's body, learning curves, and shapes. The room was filled with their gasps and moans. After bringing Karen to an explosive orgasm with his hands and mouth, Matt positioned himself at her entrance, but then hesitated again, asking with a very sensual whisper into her ear that made her skin crawl. She urged him on, writhing under him and pleading with him to join them. They had climaxed together with Karen screaming his name and him moaning into her neck.

Smiling broadly in the afterglow of their passionate lovemaking, Karen snuggled closer and placed her head on Matt's chest, slick with sweat, tracing as they waited for their breathing to get under control. After lying there in that state for about 30 minutes, Matt got up to use the bathroom, so he could shower and change into fresh underwear, while Karen put her pajamas back on and curled up in bed, briefly checking the _Bulletin_ app to see what her colleagues were putting in tomorrow’s paper. She smiled as Matt climbed under the covers and joined her. She quickly put her leg around his and sighed contentedly as he wrapped an arm around her waist. _Let’s go for another round in the morning_ , Karen thought as she drifted off to sleep. Then they’d have to jump right back into bringing down Fisk. As Matt followed her into sleep a few minutes later, neither of them had any idea what Fisk was about to turn their lives upside down and make things messier for them, Foggy, Marci, and everyone that the four of them cared about.

* * *

If the meeting with Rosalie Carbone had gone off without a hitch, then Felix’s meeting with Anibel Izqueda was the complete opposite. He’d felt very nervous as his convoy of three vehicles drove into the parking garage at 146th Street and Bradhurst Avenue, just a few blocks from the diner his men had shot up to take out Silvio Manfredi. At every sudden noise, he half expected trouble to break out. After Daredevil and Karen Page’s interrogation of Donovan at the Presidential, best to not take chances.

Izqueda was waiting by his pair of cars at the topmost level of the garage, which was open to the night sky. He had four bodyguards accompanying him, similar to Rosalie, and that was it. He was dressed in a dark black leather jacket and a black sweater, and was idly smoking a cigarette as Felix’s entourage parked and Felix got out. Felix had his gun on him, and the guards who escorted him across the roof to Izqueda’s location had assault rifles in case any hostilities broke out. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he should do to Izqueda if he didn’t comply, but he was determined to make the meeting short, quick, and to the point.

Izqueda greeted them with an almost imperceptible nod, with his four bodyguards flanking him in a way that was vaguely menacing. Felix refused to look intimidated.

“You Felix Manning?” Izqueda asked.

Felix sighed. “Yes, I am.”

Izqueda extended a hand. “Name’s Anibal Izqueda. Though my friends call me Izzy for short.”

Felix nervously shook Izqueda’s hand.

“What exactly are we here to discuss?” Izqueda asked, impatiently.

“I come bearing an exciting proposition for you, Mr. Izqueda,” Felix said, “It comes straight from Wilson Fisk.”

Izqueda scowled at the mention of Fisk’s name.  “Bullshit. Fisk is under house arrest. He can’t give orders.”

“You should expand your worldview a little more, Mr. Izqueda,” Felix sighed, “Mr. Fisk would like to offer you…protection.”

“Protection?” Izqueda sounded more hostile than Rosalie.

“We'll offer you protection from federal prosecutions, in exchange for about 20% of your profits." Felix proposed. “In addition, with Fisk's contacts in the government, we can provide you access to Hammer weapons that will ensure a successful incursion into Luke Cage’s crime-free zone.”

"20%?” Izqueda asked. “No.”

“It’s a generous offer,” Felix insisted, “Cage helped you and Carbone make peace after the shitshow that Bushmaster and Mariah Dillard caused. Now Fisk would like to help you take back what you had to give up in that agreement. We just wish to assist you, however we can, and in return, you pay us a small fee.”

“Mm, I dunno,” Izqueda said, after a long minute of pondering, “I’ve heard some very interesting shit about Fisk from the Albanians.”

“Whatever you’re hearing from is not true,” Felix said, trying not to sound exasperated.

“Your boss is a snitch,” Izqueda countered. “And he’s got the FBI in his hands, so I’ve been told. I’m not sidling up to a guy who will sell me out to buy himself more time in that hotel of his! That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

No one said anything for the next few minutes. Izqueda’s shoulders rose and fell as he tried to get his anger under control.

“This is not an order,” Felix said, breaking the silence, “It’s just an offer. In the interest of better business. Lesser violence. More trade. Win-win for everyone.” _Dare I bring up Carbone?_ “You know, Rosalie Carbone has agreed to this offer. Carbone, who you backed against Yangshi-Gonshi. It would be in your interests to take our offer as well.”

“Good for her,” Izqueda clenched his teeth, “She can whore herself out to you all she likes. I like my head where it's at, thank you very much.“

Felix had the utmost respect for Rosalie Carbone. He didn't like when people insulted her like that, and it seemed obvious that their old truces wouldn't hold.

“Very well then,” Felix said, as calmly as possible, “If that’s the way you wanna play it. Excuse me for a second.” He grabbed his phone with one hand and dialed Fisk’s war room. As he did so, he took a few steps back in the direction of his motorcade.

“What are you doing? Who are you calling?” Izqueda asked.

“Mr. Fisk insists on hearing bad news immediately,” Felix said, listening as the phone dialed. It took three rings for Fisk to pick up this time.

“Hello?”

“Boss,” Felix said, glancing at Izqueda, “He isn’t budging. You were right about the possibility of him being a problem.”

“Then take care of him,” Fisk said.

 _So we’ll have to kill him, then._ “Yes, sir, I can take care of him,” Felix said.  _Do I get rid of the bodies afterwards?_ "Do you want me to get in touch with Spurlock?"

“Leave him where he can be found, as a message to everyone else.”

Felix tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder, while grabbing his gun with his other hand, careful to make sure Izqueda couldn’t see it. “Right. Will do, boss.”

“Are you with him right now?”

“Hang on a second,” Felix said. _Well, he won’t be alive in five seconds._ He turned around to face Izqueda, keeping his body turned so that the gun was still invisible to Izqueda, though still visible to his own bodyguards.

“Mr. Fisk wanted to pass a message along to you,” Felix addressed Izqueda. The line was still open.

“Really?” Izqueda sounded surprised. “A message?”

“Yeah, really, it's a pretty short one actually,” Felix stepped up  to the Hispanic crime boss. He stopped five feet away from Izqueda, and let his mouth curve up in a malicious smirk. “Mr. Fisk sends his regards.”

He removed his phone from his right ear. Then, he raised his gun with his left hand, aimed at Izqueda's chest, and fired. The two bullets hit Izqueda dead center in the torso, and he collapsed to the ground, landing on his back.  The two bodyguards that had been on Izqueda’s left promptly grabbed for their rifles, but Felix’s men got the drop on them and opened fire first. In the resulting four second barrage of bullets, both men were hit at least a dozen times each and fell to the deck, deader than doornails. The other two bodyguards raised their hands in surrender, wisely not trying to engage Felix’s men.

“Felix?” Fisk asked from the other end of the line. Felix calmly lowered his gun and put his phone back in his ear.

“Fumigating," he said, voice devoid of any emotion. There was no response from Fisk. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, boss."

With that, Felix hung up. He walked over to the two surviving Izqueda bodyguards, who were shaking with fear, and staring at their boss, bleeding out on the ground in front of them. Felix stepped up to Izqueda. He was coughing, and a trickle of blood was coming out of his mouth.

“Do you understand why things have ended this way?” Felix asked.

"Fuck you!" Izqueda spat in his face. Felix nonchalantly wiped the blood off his cheek with a handkerchief. Without saying another word, he raised his gun, pointed it right between the wounded gangster's eyes, and fired. The back of his head exploded outwards, splattering blood and brain matter everywhere. His twitching limbs stopped moving. A job now done, Felix put his gun away and sauntered back to Izqueda's guards.

"Wilson Fisk says _buenas noches_ ," Felix replied, coldly, to the survivors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--It strikes me that Fisk would want to begin actively negotiating with other gangs, trying to convince them to willingly buy into the protection tax before he resorts to using the FBI to strongarm them. That's the whole reason for this new scene with Felix Manning meeting Rosalie Carbone. This would've been what Wesley would've done back in the old days. 
> 
> \--It took me a while to figure out how to have Matt make his presence known after the meeting. I initially considered having Matt interrogate Felix, but then realized that Hattley being in Fisk's pocket would be confirmed too early, and that still needs to be for Nadeem to uncover. So I decided he should interrogate Rosalie Carbone, because she's a newcomer who may not be fully aware of how Fisk turns on those who try to break away from him. Not to mention that you can see a new plot point I've added in.
> 
> \--That mention of Foggy doing TV interviews during the double date, as well as Marci's little attempt to extract information from one of Fisk's lawyers? Again, what I said in the endnotes a few chapters ago about Foggy realistically having a much more demanding schedule still rings true here, and you can see me setting the seeds for some major changes to the existing canon. 
> 
> \--We never saw Fisk's henchmen switch out Matt's cab driver onscreen. I'm assuming it happened while Matt was inside the prison. (The cab drowning was a backup plan in case Matt made it out of the prison, so Fisk's men would've made the switch at the earliest opportunity)
> 
> \--I decided to alter Karen's little moment with the catcallers by having her pistol-whip the last guy rather than just brandish her gun, because let's face it, in the state of mind she's in at that point, she should get a little physical. The scene still works, but with the context for Karen's anger being different: the original had Karen in a state of agitation due to Matt being alive and not bothering to contact her (speaking to Foggy and then ghosting). Here, her agitated state is because of Fisk learning Matt's identity, and the loss of Silvio as a valuable lead.
> 
> \--Old Homestead is a real steakhouse in the Meatpacking District. It's actually a rather expensive place (it was Marci's idea).
> 
> With that we are out of episode 4 and into episode 5, "The Perfect Game". This part is going to be a bit more difficult to handle, since Matt was offscreen for the entirety of that episode and didn't show until the last two minutes. Some of the changes that are coming are about ensuring that Matt has something to do during the episode.


	12. Serving up a Scapegoat Candidate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Matt and Karen closing in, Fisk decides to serve up a scapegoat to the FBI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now into the events of episode 5, "The Perfect Game". Things are really going to start deviating from canon here. Covering the events of this episode is not an easy thing to do, since Matt was offscreen for almost the entirety of the original episode and only showed up for two or three minutes at the very end. So some of the changes are about adjusting the story to allow Matt to have things to do during this time period.

**Thursday, February 8th:**

Wilson Fisk prided himself on being a careful man. With rare exceptions, he never made a move without planning way ahead, and a bunch of advisors who would give him information on the best course of action.  He always took realistic stock of his situations, calculated odds, and unlike the heads of other organizations, he actually made his plans have contingencies to ensure that they’d go off without a hitch. Seldom was he ever thrown off-balance by the unexpected, since his contingencies usually contingencies of their own.

A perfect example of this had been when Daredevil was going after his various allies. Fisk and Wesley had initially decided to take a very hands-off approach, wherein they’d let the Ranskahov brothers deal with taking out the masked man since their organization was the one he was focused on. Fisk would only step up if the Russians couldn’t handle him. Except Anatoly had had the nerve to interrupt Fisk’s dinner with Vanessa after another setback involving some nurse named Claire Temple. While Fisk was aware he hadn’t been thinking straight when he removed Anatoly’s head with his car door, he and Wesley found a way to spin the setback to his advantage. He had to prevent Vladimir from retaliating and he needed Daredevil gone. So he’d had the men who delivered Anatoly’s carcass to Vladimir plant a black mask on it. End result, Vladimir and Daredevil would end up fighting one another and both would be so occupied that neither was prepared for Fisk to set off the bombs that destroyed the Ranskahovs’ bases. And just to be absolutely sure that the Ranskahov syndicate was eradicated, he had the corrupt NYPD officers on his payroll go into the buildings and shoot any survivors. The only things that Fisk hadn’t been able to account for that night had been Daredevil finding out about Detectives Blake and Hoffman murdering that stooge in custody, stealing Blake’s phone and using that to locate Vladimir, Blake surviving getting shot by Burbank, and Owlsley subsequently scooping up Hoffman as a bargaining chip after he’d finished what Burbank had started.

The same could be said for his multilayered trap for Matt Murdock. It couldn’t have been simpler. The nurse was supposed to inject Murdock with a needle, drugging him. The sedatives wouldn’t take effect right away, but Murdock would then stumble into a riot orchestrated by the guards and inmates in Fisk’s pocket and get shanked in the confusion. It would be a perfect cover for the death of a blind man. But Murdock proved he was more than just an ordinary blind man. He managed to avoid getting drugged, and fought off Fisk’s hit squad like no man he’d ever seen before. And he’d managed to make it out of the prison intact. While Fisk hadn’t considered it likely that Murdock would make it out, he’d had a backup plan readied on the off-chance that he did escape. While Murdock had been getting information from Vic Jusufi in the prison, Casey had forced Murdock’s cab driver to drink two bottles of cheap whiskey at gunpoint, then bludgeoned him to death and stuffed his body into the passenger’s seat well. Then, upon Murdock’s exit from the prison, Casey drove the cab into the river.

To an untrained eye, it would seem that poor Matt Murdock had a very bad streak of luck that morning: he’d gotten caught in a prison riot, escaped, only to end up in a cab driven by an intoxicated cabbie who took a few wrong turns and drove into the Hudson. People might ask questions for a few days, but they’d eventually move on.

And Casey had succeeded. Murdock was finished. Now it was time to attend to his allies who were working with him to take down Fisk. There was his reporter girlfriend/partner-in-crime Karen Page, who had been with him poking around at Fisk’s security looking for weak spots. There was also his former law partner Franklin Nelson and his girlfriend Marci Stahl. They seemed to be making moves of their own against him. With one threat to his business out of the way, it was time to take swift action to eradicate Murdock’s allies.

That was on Fisk’s mind as he made his way down to his secret war room at 7:15 that morning for a meeting with Felix Manning.

“Good morning, sir,” Felix said, nodding as Fisk entered the room.

Fisk nodded, imperceptibly. “How are we with the Izqueda matter?"

"Yes, sir," Felix nodded, "Izqueda has been left exactly where we offed him. We had to shoot two of his men for trying to draw on us, but...the surviving two have been told to spread the word of what you'll do to those who say no."

 _The message will ring very clear._ "And the Carbone deal?”

“Unlike Izqueda, she happily accepted all of our incentives,” Felix said. “A stake in the docks, access to our operatives if she ever needs them, and of course, she’ll pay our protection tax to get those, plus our federal immunity.”

 _Good._ “How are we with the others?” he asked. Carbone had been scratched off. She was a good start. Without Izqueda, though, Fisk needed a few more organizations paying into the tax to keep the operation feasible.

“Sherry Yang and the new head of the Tigers are scheduled to parlay with me tomorrow night,” Felix resumed. “I’m having a hard time getting Hammond, Carter, Zyl, or Starr to consider our offer, so we are probably going to have to ask Hattley to grease them a bit. I’m thinking a coordinated mass kidnapping will be in order…”

Fisk nodded.

"Anything else?"

Felix bit his lip and hesitated. He was unsure how best to break the news to Fisk that Matt Murdock probably was _not_ dead. His contacts in the NYPD had informed him that the taxicab Casey had used to drive Murdock into the Hudson had been recovered just an hour ago, as the sun rose. The original driver’s body was found floating inside the car, but Matt Murdock’s corpse was nowhere to be found. In Felix’s world, one never counted someone as dead unless you had a physical body in front of you. And if Matt Murdock was still out there, odds were that he was going to double down on his attacks against Fisk’s organization. That could certainly explain the answering message that Karen Page had left for him at Red Lion Bank last night, asking for an interview with him. Felix had strong suspicions that Matt had been the one to put her up to that. He purposely decided he wouldn’t tell Fisk about that, preferring to handle that matter by himself.

Even moreso, Felix had  been tipped off by that morning's edition of the  _New York Bulletin_ that Foggy Nelson, Matt’s former law partner, had decided to join the district attorney race as a write-in candidate. The article mentioned that he was doing so with the explicit purpose of calling to public attention Blake Tower’s refusal to indict Fisk at a state level. Felix had a bad feeling Matt was out there and still very much in touch with his allies. The only small comfort was that they had a way to spin this to their advantage. Felix knew everything about what Karen Page had done in Fagan Corners, Vermont, and he also was a participant in the arranged fraud that Finney had tricked Foggy’s brother into committing. The former could probably just be discredited, and the latter could easily be used to get Nelson to drop out.

In a perfect scenario, Felix would just break the bad news to Fisk and that would be the end of it. But he knew that Fisk had it in for Matt and everyone who was helping him expose Felix’s employer. It was very unlikely that he would just calmly accept that the man who threatened to separate him from Vanessa was still out there. Which it seemed was going to happen as Felix felt Fisk’s piercing stare.

"You know, when someone takes this long to answer, it's not usually a good indicator that they're about to tell me good news," Fisk said coldly.

Felix’s mind was blanking on any possible excuses he could come up with to delay telling Fisk this little hiccup.

“We may have a problem,” he finally said, lamely.

“A problem?” Fisk raised his eyebrows. _Just cut to the chase, goddamnit._

Felix bit his lip and shifted his feet. “Our friends in the NYPD say that the automotive conveyance by which Mr. Williamson was able to discard Matthew Murdock was fished out of the Hudson about two hours ago,” he said.

“Is Murdock dead?” Fisk asked, sounding hopeful. If the blind man was dead, he’d be one happy guy.  One less person who could get between him and Vanessa. He turned away from Felix and stared at the monitor displaying his feed of the FBI’s surveillance room. It was just Dex and Lim on duty right now.

It might have been a little too soon to get his hopes up, given what Felix said next. “There is no corpse,” Felix said, shaking his head.

Fisk’s relief was quickly replaced with frustration. _Matt Murdock isn’t dead?!_ He curled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth. Matt Murdock was still alive. And probably coming for him.

 _There is no corpse._ That irritant blind-but-maybe-not lawyer was still out there. It shouldn't matter. Fisk figured that while he might not have succeeded at _literally_ killing Murdock, he hopefully had succeeded metaphorically. Murdock had to know now, that he and his girlfriend and his associates were in way over their heads. But with him managing to escape the cab, Fisk knew better. Murdock wasn’t like an annoying itch you're trying to not scratch, he was more than that. And now, Fisk felt his apprehension increase, realizing that Murdock was less a man without hope...and more a man without _fear_. But alas, Murdock hadn’t yet shown his face again. _Which means plenty of time to take down his associates._

“There's. No. Corpse,” Felix repeated, thinking Fisk was zoning out.

“I heard you,” Fisk snapped, annoyed at Felix for interrupting his train of thought. He turned around to face his fixer. “Need I remind you, Felix, that I do not tolerate loose ends.” _The only reason I’m not asking anyone else to “step up” and take your place is because you’re the only person I trust with protecting Vanessa._

“Yes, sir,” Felix answered meekly. Fisk could tell that his consigliere was as stunned as he was by the events that had unfolded at the prison. Felix took a deep breath, and decided to try softening the blow. “…But the body was probably just swept away in the current,” he tried suggesting, “Even if Murdock somehow escaped from the cab, how does a blind man swim to shore?”

  
“Does this look like a blind man to you?” Fisk asked. He gestured to Mrs. Shelby, who pulled up the security tapes in the exam room on the big wall of monitors, and played back the footage of his loyal inmates and guards getting their asses kicked by Matt. "That looks like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

Earlier that night, Fisk had come downstairs to the secret command center and played back the footage from the prison riot. Watching it on a loop, Fisk thought something was familiar about the way Murdock fought. It seemed eerily reminiscent of Daredevil's fighting style. On a hunch, he'd had Mrs. Shelby pull up the security camera footage of Daredevil beating up Officer Corbin and his colleagues after the bombings, and put it up side by side with the prison footage. He saw Murdock and Daredevil executing very similar moves. There seemed to be an awful lot of traditional boxing in both men's fighting styles, but there was also a bit of various martial arts forms mixed in there too. Between the two videos, and recalling what he witnessed himself when Daredevil was fighting Nobu at the docks, Fisk had come to a shocking conclusion: Matt Murdock and Daredevil were one and the same.

It was kind of obvious when you stopped and thought about it. Daredevil's masks were designed in such a way as to completely obscure his eyes, meaning that the average joe would not realize that the wearer was blind. The timing of Matt Murdock and Daredevil disappearing so closely together on the night of Midland Circle's collapse, and both last being seen in the presence of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, suddenly made sense too: he must have been trapped under the rubble and spent the last few months recovering somewhere off-the-grid.

Despite having learned who Daredevil really was, Fisk had opted to keep that information to himself. He figured that it was information that should only be given out on a need-to-know basis. The fewer people who knew, the more he could maintain plausible deniability if necessary. This information was too valuable for anyone else to trust, with the exception of Felix. And Vanessa. He'd tell Vanessa all of this stuff once she came back.  


“We investigated him thoroughly,” Felix insisted, “His associates. Medical and school records all check out. All confirm that Matthew Murdock lost his sight at age nine in a car accident involving a truck carrying toxic chemicals.”

“Yes, nevertheless a man capable of that could have survived,” Fisk nodded in agreement, “But he’s threatened to come between Vanessa and I. And he has that reporter, Karen Page, assisting him.” _And if he’s alive, then he’s not going to just give up._

Fisk contemplated his options. Matt Murdock and Karen Page were actively investigating him. They’d poked at his security here at the hotel the other day. And he knew from Donovan’s visit two nights ago that the couple had also spoken to Agent Hattley, and she’d told them everything about the deal, about Vanessa. Murdock had gone to the prison to talk to the Albanians. And the fact that he was still alive…Fisk knew better than to not think Murdock had found out about Jasper Evans.

But he could hold off on retiring Jasper Evans. For now, Murdock was missing. Karen Page was presumably going to be preoccupied with finding her lover. It might be a while before they located Jasper. Which left one last person to deal with.

“What about his former law partner?” Fisk asked abruptly. “Franklin Nelson?”

Felix seemed caught off guard by Fisk’s change of subject. He sighed, prepared to break this other sprinkling of bad news to his client.

“I'm glad you mentioned that,” Felix said, pulling out that morning’s copy of the _New York Bulletin,_ which he was carrying under his sleeve. “Take a look at this.”

He handed Fisk the paper. Fisk slowly felt his anger surging as he took in what he was seeing. The front page was plastered with a courtroom photograph of Franklin Nelson, taken during one of Luke Cage's extradition hearing after Mariah Dillard had snitched on him to the US Marshals. The photograph was headlined, “Nelson To City: Indict Fisk.”

“Seems that Mr. Nelson is running for District Attorney as a write-in candidate,” Felix recapped the article. “Our contacts on the force say that he spoke to an assembled group of officers at their union hall yesterday afternoon.”

“Running for District Attorney,” Fisk mused. “I never considered Mr. Nelson to be the kind of person who would run in a political race.” A thought entered his head: had Nelson ever participated in a campaign before? “…has he?”

Felix shook his head. “No, he hasn’t. Not to the best of my knowledge,” he said. “I doubt he’s ever going to come close to costing Blake Tower the primary.” He paused.

“What does he mean by this?” Fisk asked, pointing to the “…indict Fisk” subtitle in the headline.

“He got the NYPD police union to back him by citing how the Feds we own are refusing to break their loyalty,” Felix said. Fisk lifted an eyebrow. “…Well,” he backpedaled, “Not in those exact words.” He bit his tongue. "But Detective Brett Mahoney managed to convince his fellow officers to listen to him."

 _Mahoney?_ Fisk remembered the dark-skinned officer who put the handcuffs on him very well. Fisk had read up on Brett Mahoney while he was in jail, looking for any weaknesses to exploit in the young cop who quickly made Detective after he single-handedly captured Frank Castle. He was pretty certain Mahoney had not captured Castle without assistance; his contacts in the 15th Precinct had told him, in fact, that Mahoney was rumored to have a direct line to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Mahoney was also best friends with Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson. _And if he knows Murdock's civilian identity, surely he also knows about Murdock's other identity._ But Fisk saw no point in targeting Mahoney. Not for now. Not while the Detective was part of an NYPD task force that had been convened that Tuesday morning with the job of building a case against the crimelord who'd killed four of their officers, and when Nelson and Murdock were more vulnerable targets.

“Where is Nelson now?”

“He just got out of an interview with Trish Walker on _Trish Talk_ ,” Felix answered. “Our contacts in the media say he’s going be on Thembi Wallace’s show later this morning, and Christine Everhart’s got a bit with him scheduled on WHiH this afternoon.”

Fisk couldn’t believe his luck. Nelson was naïve. He’d decided to run for District Attorney to unseat him. Boy, that was a pretty boneheaded move. He had a life that could be spun to paint him as a devious criminal. His brother had cooked his books to get a loan to save his butcher shop. His best friend and former law partner was secretly a blind martial artist whose style of fighting suspiciously resembled Daredevil’s. His girlfriend Marci Stahl was a former employee of a law firm that was in Fisk’s pocket, and his new boss Jeri Hogarth had her skeletons in her closet, if Felix's investigators was to be believed.

It made Fisk realize that now was a perfect time to use his leverage over the ambitious lawyer. The fact that Nelson was doing TV interviews meant no one would think anything was strange. Candidates, especially newcomers like him who’d never run for office even once before, were always subject to more scrutiny. All he’d have to do was whisper some juicy gossip in the right peoples’ ears, and Nelson’s campaign could be dead in the water. No one would take him or Murdock seriously. A double pronged attack would be the right thing: tell Nadeem that both Nelson & Murdock had done work for him, but exaggerate the extent to which they worked for him.

As Fisk stood there in silence, another idea came into his mind: he could use this leverage he had over Nelson to help advance his other plans. Nadeem was 100% under his control by now, and this would certainly be a nice distraction to keep him out of the way. Fisk had all of the other agents in the hotel working for him, with the exception of Nadeem. This was by design, as the deal needed to be with an agent who had absolutely no blemishes on his record, and this also ensured Nadeem could be the fall guy for any FBI mishaps that inevitably happened. Distracting Nadeem with a snipe hunt would be the only way to ensure that Fisk could focus fulltime on swinging Dex’s allegiance to him.

On top of that, Fisk was feeling like the penthouse was kinda sterile. It made him feel very uncomfortable, to the point he wanted to fast-track the return of all his personal possessions from wherever the feds were holding them. While he might not be able to re-obtain “Rabbit in a Snowstorm” from that Esther Falb woman quite yet, he could probably use his dirt on the Nelsons as bargaining power to leverage Nadeem for the return of everything else. That included those fancy three piece white suits that he’d had custom made for him. Before prison, he’d always worn a crisp black suit every day to the point it felt like a uniform. Switching to his white suits in conjunction with the return of his furniture would make this place actually feel like a home and less like a prison. Once Vanessa came back, the 'prison' feel would be even less visible.

“Sir?” Felix asked.

Fisk looked up at Felix. “Get me Mr. Donovan and Agent Nadeem,” he declared, “It’s time to send the Nelsons my regards.”

"It'll be done," Felix nodded, "Anything else?"

Fisk nodded. With the impending attacks that the former members of Nelson & Murdock were posing to his affairs, he needed to accelerate his plans for getting Dex into the fake Daredevil costume, in order to discredit them.  Given how long Melvin Potter had been making Daredevil's armor, it wouldn't take too much time or effort to fast-track a replica for an imposter. "Inform Mr. Potter to get the suit ready..."

Standing there, it also occurred to him that he needed to have a sitdown with some of his lieutenants who were actively subjugating smaller local gangs in Manhattan into paying his tax.

"...and set up a meeting with Burbank, Ornstein and Lincoln here in the suite, tonight. We need to discuss the state of our union with them and their ongoing progress." _As well as task someone with cutting a deal with Izqueda's replacement._

Felix nodded, understanding Fisk's request. _That's a lot for you to ask of me, but I'm more than capable of working under a lot of pressure._

* * *

It began to occur to Karen that she had some kind of addiction to Matt. She didn’t know what exactly was causing it. Was it his natural good looks? That must have been part of it. Foggy had once told her that Matt was always a bit of a lady’s man in law school. But she wanted to believe it had more to do with the strengthening of their bond that they’d formed in the last few days, since he'd come back from the dead and they’d teamed up to take down Fisk. Disclosing hard truths to one another may have further helped. Still, that didn’t change the fact that since Monday, they’d made love four times. Part of her figured that she’d need to rein it in, otherwise she’d probably die before the end of the week. 

That part was not the one that was in control right now, as Karen was immersed in riding Matt, small sighs escaping her every now and then. Her hands, still braced on his chest, burned his skin, causing him to groan her name in sweet agony. She rode him like there was no tomorrow, rode him like her life depended on it, rode him until he was drained and completely spent, a hand wrapped around her throat.  

As they lay in bed afterwards, basking in the afterglow, Matt stroked her hair, and gently ran one hand up and down her back. Karen had transformed his life. Just weeks ago, he wouldn’t have imagined being in this position. He had no hearing in his right ear, he was completely at the end of his rope,  he didn’t know if he would ever go back to being Daredevil again. Was it, as he’d said to Sister Maggie two days ago, God’s gift that the price to pay for regaining his full hearing was Fisk getting released from prison? Maybe. Maybe not. But the fact was that he’d made a choice that night at Riverbank Medical Center to reach out to Karen and seek out her help. Judging from how she seemed eager to have sex with him when he first approached her in his apartment—well, _their_ apartment now—he wondered if he should have told her sooner that he was alive and well.  She seemed to be coping well with the knowledge of what he’d done, and was very forgiving of his choices regarding Elektra. Learning what she had done to her brother and Wesley had helped even more with that; she’d provided him with a third party prospective on how destructive some relationships like the ones he’d had with Stick and with Elektra could be.

Similarly, Karen was watching Matt’s face, wondering what exactly he was thinking about. He was softly smiling now, happy and relaxed. Those beautiful sightless eyes might not know what she looked like, but he understood her better than anyone else in her life did. Better than her dad, her brother, than Foggy, than even Frank, Ben or Ellison.

For breakfast that morning, they decided to break from what they’d been doing the last two days. Matt chose to stay behind to make coffee while Karen ran out to grab some chocolate pastries from the bakery down the street, as well as a print copy of the _New York Bulletin_. When Karen grabbed the paper off the newsstand, she was greeted with a very pleasant sight. There was Foggy’s handsome face plastered on the front page.  It was accompanied by the catching headline “Nelson To City: INDICT FISK.” She couldn’t help but smile. _I was right, Foggy. You DO look like you belong in a 1920s television show about bootleggers, like that HBO one that had an IRA guy who vaguely resembles Matt._

“Can I ask you something?” Matt asked as they began digging into their pastries.

“Yes, Matt?” Karen looked at him, innocently.

“Did something happen to you last night?” He had been a little bit worried last night by the suddenness with which Karen had pinned him up against the wall and expressed an eager desire to have sex with him. She seemed unusually aggressive. It reminded him a little too much of Elektra and the sparring-turned-sexual-foreplay sessions he'd had with her.

“Last night?” she blushed. “Um, no.”

“It’s just…” Matt paused, trying to find the right word. “…the instant I came back in, you didn’t seem interested at all in hearing what I found out about Felix Manning. And the way you came onto me like that…it was like sex was the only thing on your mind.”

“So?” she shrugged. “I like you, Matt.”

Matt made a face at her. Her demeanor changed rather abruptly. She sighed, and took another sip of her coffee. “Okay, well, uh…” she bit her lip and glanced at her heels. “…while I was walking from the D train over to my FDIC contact’s house, I saw these three guys who were harassing women.”

“Harassing?” Matt asked.

“Catcalling,” Karen said, “If you want to be technical. I saw them leering at and ogling women, calling them ugly names.”

“Did you call the cops?”

Karen rolled her eyes. She’d known better than to think that the cops would be able to do anything about a bunch of guys loitering out on a stoop throwing insults at women. They’d probably just lie about what they were doing, and there’d be no proof of what they were doing in the absence of video evidence. The only way anyone of them would have gotten locked up would be if one of them had gotten physical with someone and that person had pressed charges. “I decided to test to see if they were scared of .38 caliber lead,” she said in an unusually calm voice. She cringed at how formal she sounded, like she was talking about purchasing something at the supermarket and not getting aggressive towards a bunch of people who weren’t even hurting her.

Matt looked at her alarmed. “You did what?”

“I didn’t shoot them!” she said, getting defensive. “I did cold cock their leader across the face twice with the butt end of my gun, though. He’ll live.”

Matt relaxed. _Good, Karen didn’t just go out and kill three people for hurting her feelings._

“Did you get to talk to your contact with the FDIC?” he asked, changing the subject.

Karen blinked. “Oh! As a matter of fact, yes! Yes, I did!” she said, brightly.

Matt smiled. “And?”

“Felix Manning isn’t just Fisk’s right hand man,” she explained, “He’s also his money launderer at Red Lion National Bank.”

Matt sat there, letting that sink in. Felix Manning was clearly even more of a weak link than he’d expected. It would’ve one thing if he was simply a underboss who relayed orders from Fisk to his capos and the button men underneath them.  But this guy was handling his money, too. Fisk was clearly putting a lot of trust in having one man serve the joint roles of being his underboss and a co-consigliere. Though, knowing the man’s tendency to have spares on hand, Matt also knew it was wrong to think Fisk was trusting just one man with so many important responsibilities, and didn’t have others who could replace Felix if he got compromised in any form.

“He’s…managing Fisk’s money?” Matt asked.

“Yup,” Karen said, “That’s all my contact was willing to tell me.”

“You didn’t bother asking her more?”

“I would’ve asked more, but she was kinda irritated at me showing up at her place uninvited like that,” she grimaced.

“Oh.”

"He's not doing it alone, either," Karen added. "He's got another guy aiding him, a man named Stewart Finney."

"Really?" Matt brightened.

"Even better," she said, smiling, "He's a former inmate who did time with Fisk."

Matt nodded. They had the name of someone besides Jasper Evans who had done time with Fisk, who could maybe testify to the sorts of crimes that Fisk had been involved in.

"Tell me more."

Karen filled him in on what she'd found on Stewart Finney. From his youth in suburban Pennsylvania to to his time at Harvard, he showed signs of being a very talented kid. He took advantage of every scholarship that came his way,  securing the best education possible, and then some more. He was a mortgage analyst at Manhattan Trust while still in his twenties. But then he made a deal that crossed someone whose brother was in a very influential position in the Justice Department, and he ended up locked up in Rikers in 2011, where he met Fisk in 2015.

Matt knew that Fisk had an eye for talent and those who would be loyal to him whether through bribery and/or intimidation. And he found one with Stewart Finney, arranging his release from prison and getting him a job at Red Lion Bank, securing his loyalty.

“Any family?” Matt asked.

“None," Karen shook her head, "Just his live-in girlfriend, a lawyer by the name of Kendra Byrnes. She's an associate at Donovan's firm."

“And now he is handling Fisk's money," Matt said, "And living like a king, or as much of a king as living in Brooklyn can get you."

“That's about it,” Karen said, “I doubt he's going to give up his lifestyle without a fight, especially if Fisk is using his girlfriend to keep him in line. We have to push him or find something on him that makes him willing to give Fisk up. Given he trusts Fisk, and they met in prison, I doubt he has plans to go back there."

She sighed. _Time to let Matt speak._ “What about you? How did your spying on Felix go last night?”

Matt lightened up, relieved to now have a chance to discuss what he’d learned. “I think I know what Fisk is planning here,” he said.

“Really?” Karen brightened. If they knew what Fisk was planning, they could reformulate their strategy towards derailing him. “What is this plan?”

“He’s running a protection racket,” Matt said, “With the help of FBI and federal prosecutors on his payroll, Fisk seeks to become the sole source of government protection for all criminals in the city.”

Karen felt her breath hitch. “So the FBI are working for Fisk,” she said, “Whoop-de-freaking-do.” The fact that Matt had found evidence Fisk was paying people in the FBI was not a promising sign, as it meant that he had the influence to easily target his enemies as he saw fit. Which was a frightening prospect for Matt and Karen, given that Fisk now knew or at least suspected that Matt was Daredevil. The FBI were pretty relentless at what they did, and they were probably less fond of Daredevil than the NYPD were. It also did explain why no one in the FBI was questioning the decision to place Fisk in a hotel that he secretly owned.

“Yes,” he said, lowering his head. “It’s like he just traded one law enforcement entity for another.”

“…So who was he meeting with?” she asked, filing away the “corrupt FBI” bit. _Let's deal with finding agents willing to speak out against Fisk later._

“Felix is meeting with various gangs from all over town,” Matt said, “I heard him mention that he’s having a summit with the Tigers and the Hatchets on Saturday night.”

“You should give Danny a call,” Karen suggested, “He’s dealt with them before.” She still had fresh memories of the entire case surrounding Danny and Colleen's involvement in stopping the triad war just the other month.

“Danny doesn’t know shit about Fisk,” Matt countered, “As for who Felix was meeting last night, he was negotiating with Rosalie Carbone. The Harlem crime boss Detective Knight said has been making waves since Mariah's death.”

“Carbone.” The name tickled Karen’s memory. _Why does that name sound familiar? Wait…_ Karen snapped her fingers. “Hang on a second,” she said. Matt listened as she began rifling through Ben’s old research files that she’d brought home with her from the office on Tuesday night.

“She’s the daughter of Julius Carbone. That’s one of the mafiosos that was in Ben’s files,” Matt added.

“It was.” Karen dug up the file containing the research on Julius Carbone. “Wait, it wasn't in this...oh wait! Here it is. Julius Carbone was the head of the Carbone crime family back in the 70s,” she flipped through the contents, “He had a very strong working partnership with RIgoletto, like Silvio said. Took over Harlem by brute force, which earned him a brief period of warfare with the Stokes'. He was locked up in the same FBI sweep that caught Rigoletto and Manfredi and all those other bosses.”

“How exactly did Julius die?” Matt asked. "Silvio said he was hit by a train."

Karen quickly flipped to the newspaper clipping regarding the elderly Carbone’s death. “Says here he died by falling in front of a 3 train on Lenox Avenue in October 2012, a week before Hurricane Sandy. Probably why no one gave it much attention.”

“He fell in front of a train?” Karen could tell from his tone that Matt didn’t buy the official story.

“That’s what it says here,” she said, turning around to face Matt. “Of course, knowing this guy and his sources of revenue, it’s more likely he was pushed.”

Matt nodded.

“You think Fisk was behind it?”

“I think he was,” he answered, “Probably for the same reason Rigoletto was taken out. He knew about Fisk's secrets. And that’s a good thing because we have an opening to disrupt Fisk’s operation.”

“How?”

“We get her to turn against Fisk,” he explained.

“You think we’re going to get a grown mafia princess like Rosalie Carbone to flip on Fisk?” Karen asked, in disbelief. “I doubt that’s ever going to happen. She's hardly going to violate _omerta._ ”

“I know,” Matt said, casting a grim smile, “I tried that last night, when I spoke to her. Attempted to convince her Fisk would cut her off eventually. Didn’t work out. So I had a different idea.” Sensing Karen staring at him, he took a deep breath. “We get word to Rosalie Carbone that her father was murdered on the orders of Fisk. Rosalie may be pragmatic, but I think if she hears that her father did not accidentally fall in front of a train, heads could roll. I think that sort of action is mandated by _omerta_ as well.”

“Break up the Carbone-Fisk alliance,” Karen realized. "Cost him a major client."

“Pretty much,” Matt said. "It gets even better: she's got some Russian partners who operate out of Brooklyn that she wants to bring into the scheme. She'll be meeting with them tonight to sell them Fisk's pitch. I'm not sure where, but...I think we'll be popping down there tonight to say hi."

"So that's three parties that could be persuaded to turn against Fisk," she said.

"At minimum. There might be more."

“But,” Karen said. Matt could tell there had been a ‘ _but_ ’ coming. “Matt, these are full on gangsters with lots of access to high-power weapons and muscle.”

Matt sighed. “I want her to do something that forces Fisk to instigate a response against her. Then, while he’s busy dealing with a little war against his businesses, we seek out and bring in Jasper Evans, get him on record saying he got paid by Fisk to shank him, and boom! We get him on conspiracy to deceive the FBI, and they’ll have no choice but to send him back to prison.”

Karen thought about it. Matt had a point that offering Fisk a distraction to delay his inevitable elimination of Jasper Evans would be a smart move. She just didn’t know if a gang war was the right sort of distraction, given the propensity for innocent victims to get caught in the crossfire. “Are you _sure_ this is the best option, Matt? I mean, we provoke Fisk and Carbone into fighting one another, there will be bodies in the streets. Innocent people will be in danger.”

Matt sighed. _These are desperate times, and those call for desperate moves._ “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said. “Fisk isn’t just a criminal. He’s a monster. And after yesterday’s events at the prison, that’s the only way I think we’re going to be able to defeat someone like that.”

After a while, Karen said, “Good.” Matt knew she’d understand. She’d shot her own drug dealing boyfriend to protect her brother, and she shot Wesley to protect him and Foggy from retaliation by Fisk. And with everything she’d dealt with across the Fisk and Castle cases, she knew the risks.

“You know the funny thing is,” Matt spoke suddenly, breaking the silence, “That phone call Fisk made to me before he sic’ed his goons on me yesterday, it reminded me an awful lot of the first time we ever spoke to one another.”

“At the art gallery?” she asked, confused.

“No,” Matt shook his head, “The night of the bombings.”

From the look on his face, Karen realized that the events of that night were not something Matt liked to discuss. When he’d first disclosed his secret to her, he’d given her a rundown on what he’d been doing to investigate Fisk while she had been busy pursuing the Union Allied paper trail. But when it came to the night Fisk blew up the Russians, he seemed very dodgy about the hours he’d spent hiding with Vladimir in that warehouse.

“…What happened?”

“Do you remember Officer Sullivan?” he asked.

Karen bit her lower lip and nodded slowly. She remembered Officer Jamie Sullivan. He was the rookie cop that was found dead inside the warehouse along with Vladimir’s body. He’d been handcuffed to a pole and stabbed through the throat with a knife. Matt hadn’t even mentioned him when he’d described that night to her, only mentioning that he’d interrogated Vladimir for information on Fisk’s allies.

“I told you how that cop tried to kill me and Vladimir,” Matt started, “Well, Vladimir and I hid out in that warehouse at 47th and 12th. Claire had to walk me over the phone on how to cauterize his gunshot wound with a road flare.”

“Bet she had a lot of fun teaching you to heal the man who ordered her kidnapping,” Karen smirked.

Matt chuckled. “It took a little persuasion, but yeah…anyway, Sullivan was walking by the building and…I guess he heard Vladimir’s screams from me holding the flare to his leg. Next thing I knew, I hear him calling in a 10-10. When he found us on the second floor, I subdued him and tried to stop him from calling in backup, but he wouldn’t listen. I had to knock him out, gag him with duct tape, and handcuff him to a column.”

“Jesus,” Karen whispered, shocked. _That's a little excessive_.

“I just needed to keep him quiet until I got what I needed out of Vladimir,” he resumed, “The ESU team that showed up, they were working for Fisk. They killed him in cold blood, just because they thought he heard too much. Right after the team’s sniper shot Blake and the other cops.”

Matt felt sickened, trying to imagine what it had been like for Sullivan. To have the people who are supposed to save your life turn out to have been sent to kill you, and you only find out in those final seconds you have to live. He had been busy guiding Vladimir down into the tunnels, but the horrified and muffled screams Sullivan made as the knife was plunged into his throat still rang clear in his head. Sullivan hadn’t deserved to die like that. And he hadn’t deserved to be put in that situation by Matt in the first place. With the benefit of hindsight, Matt had realized this mess probably would’ve been avoided if he’d told Sullivan more specifically that the cops in his precinct were dirty and that calling for help wouldn’t guarantee his safety, rather than give him a vague _“I’ll let you go…eventually.”_

“…And how was this your first interaction with Fisk?” Karen broke the silence.

Matt cleared his throat. “Fisk had Blake and Hoffman clear one of the police channels for him. We had a lengthy conversation over Sullivan’s radio.”

Fisk’s words from that night reverberated through Matt’s ears. It stunned him, describing the interaction to Karen, just how accurate Fisk may have been about his psychology. “ _That's what makes you dangerous. It's not the mask. It's not the skills. It's your ideology. The lone man who thinks he can make a difference. I'm glad we could talk. I respect your conviction even if it runs counter with my own.”_

“Fucking asshole,” Karen said. “And there’s no proof of Fisk giving that sniper the order.”

The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Matt stiffened up, wondering who it might be. When he heard a familiar male voice say “NYPD, open the door,” he relaxed. _Brett must have that information on Jasper Evans._

Karen got up and went to answer the door.

“Hey,” Karen said. She could see Brett had a pair of file folders under his right shoulder.

“Hello,” Brett said. He looked confused by the fact that Karen was the one answering the door and not Matt. “Is Murdock around?”

“Right this way,” Karen said, ushering him down the hall and into the living room. _I feel like I’m doing my secretarial stuff at Nelson & Murdock for some reason_.

“I didn’t realize you two had moved in together,” Brett commented, taking in the surroundings.

“Well I only moved in a few weeks ago,” Karen shrugged, sitting down on the couch next to Matt, “Word’s pretty slow getting out there. And I'm sure your file on me hasn't been updated to reflect my change of address.”

“Does Foggy know about this?”

“We only told him a couple days ago,” Matt answered. _But let’s dispense with the pleasantries._ “Do you have the file that we asked for on Jasper Evans?”

“It’s on the coffee table right in front of you,” Brett said, placing it in front of Matt. There were two copies of the police file, one with normal pages and one with braille pages. “Dude's a lifer. Shot and killed two people in a convenience store robbery gone bad 27 years ago.”

“Huh,” Karen said, glancing briefly at the file. Brett put his hands on his knees.

“There was also something I needed to talk to you about, Matt.”

“What is it?” Matt asked. _You know I'm Daredevil? Or..._

Brett looked at Matt. “We recovered the cab that you said Fisk's guys tried to drown you in.”

“Okay…” Matt said, blood draining from his cheeks. _So much for trying to keep a low profile._

“Harbor Patrol fished a minivan cab out of the Hudson about four hours ago,” he continued as he pulled out his notepad and pencil and started writing, “Around that pier near where Captain Sully landed his plane nine years back.”

"You're sure it's the same cab?" Matt asked, skeptically.

“Well, I checked the medallion number with the dispatcher,” Brett referred to his notes, “And he told me that the driver's last pickup was yesterday morning on this block, and he then dropped off the fare at Rikers Island. There’s only one person on this block that I can think of who’d be going to Rikers at ten o’clock in the morning.”

 _Right, you’re a detective._ Matt had to put on a stoic face to hide the fact that he was a little paranoid. The taxi that Fisk’s goons had tried to drown him with had been found. Fisk probably had been led to believe since then that he was dead. The discovery of the cab, combined with the fact that Fisk evidently had members of the FBI on his payroll, and maybe still some cops in the NYPD, Matt knew it wouldn’t take too long for his archnemesis to find out he was still breathing.

“Why are you coming to talk to us in person?” Karen asked. "You could've just called us."

“Well, I would've done that," Brett leaned back, "But I thought you should hear this straight from me."

"What is it?"

"It seems like what Fisk wants us to believe is that your driver, a guy named Lucas Eavey, got drunk, took a wrong turn and somehow mistook the river for a parking space,” Brett said, “Would be a good cover story except for the fact that we found dried blood on the passenger's seat, which we think was from him, and some more blood in the backseat, which was probably from you, Murdock. Which lead me to believe he was already dead before the cab  began flying towards the river, but that won't be possible to determine until the autopsy and that won't be until this afternoon.”

Matt sat silently and said nothing. _Obviously, with me being half-conscious and blind, I wouldn’t notice that the driver was dead._ His mind began working, trying to figure out where Fisk’s men would’ve switched drivers.

“That doesn’t answer the question of why you’re coming to talk to me,” Matt said, dryly.

“I just want to confirm, were you the last person to 'see' Mr. Eavey alive?” Brett asked.

Matt could sense the air quotes in Brett’s voice. "I think so. I handed him money when he dropped me off." _Maybe that’s where Fisk’s men made the switch,_ he thought. If Fisk still had control of the guards and prisoners, he’d be able to erase any CCTV footage of the cab driver’s murder. "I can't be sure whether he was still alive when I got back in the cab, though."

"So you think he was probably killed there?" Brett wrote something down on his notepad.

"Would they really take the risk?" Karen asked, pointedly.

"I don't know for certain, but, well," Brett exhaled, “I just came from Rikers, trying to get information on Eavey and whether or not he was there. I thought it was strange."

“Strange how?” Karen asked.

“Well, the warden was like, we didn't see shit. Him nor any of the other guards. And there was no security footage, which, y'know, is a big red flag. So I push more, and before you know it, uh, the warden's gone, and I'm talking to some snot-nose lawyer who's asking me for my badge number.”  
  
Matt leaned over and whispered into Karen’s ear, “Fisk must have directed them to lie or destroy evidence of the riot.” He then cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Brett. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"In the meanwhile," Brett continued talking, "there was evidence of you being there. You did put your name on the visitor list and you had a scheduled appointment with Michael Kemp. I managed to speak to him."  
  
"How's Michael doing?" Karen asked. "Just curious."

"Doing fine. Heard he's studying psychology classes now." He scratched his chin. "I also understand you said something to provoke him."

"I didn't provoke him," Matt said. Hopefully, Michael could be trusted to keep his mouth shut, especially seeing as his and Matt's conversation fell under attorney-client privilege.

"I obtained a partially incomplete incident report involving an altercation between you and Michael where he punched you in the face,” Brett explained, "But there were no accompanying medical records. I would think you got checked out by the nurse."

“Fisk made sure that didn't happen,” Matt said defensively.

Matt risked a nod. He could sense Brett making a weary face and putting the palm of his nonwriting hand against his forehead. “So what you're saying is, that you showed up at the prison, Michael punched you, and you never got it checked out by the nurse. A half hour later, from what Michael tells me, a fight breaks out, and the guards try to kill you, and some Albanians got you to the front gate. Now, it might be a coincidence, but knowing the sorts of games Fisk has been pulling for years, it's almost certain that this fight was orchestrated by him, somehow, from the Presidential Hotel. Mind telling me what happened?"

Matt sighed. As patiently as he could, he retold the story, careful to omit details that indicated he fought any of the inmates or guards himself. "The nurse who came to check me out turned out to be on Fisk's payroll. He tried to inject me with some kind of sedative, but he was unable to get the needle in. After that, I get a phone call from Fisk himself, telling me that he's going to kill me for interfering in his relationship with Vanessa Marianna. I get out of the room, and I'm cornered by about seven guys who were all working for him.  If it wasn’t for a couple of sympathetic Albanians coming to my rescue, I would’ve died in there.” He took a deep breath. "While they were getting me past the guards, I told them how I was part of the firm that took down Fisk, and they gave me Jasper Evans' name because Vic, the guy in charge, his cousin was one of those killed in the motorcade shooting."

Brett made a note of that. “So they got you to the front gate. You got in the cab, not realizing Fisk's men had replaced your driver, and the replacement driver drives you across Queens and Manhattan to the docks, then floors it directly into the Hudson?"

“That’s correct.” 

“And then you  freed yourself after the taxi hit the water?” 

Matt nodded, “My dad taught me some basic swimming skills before...y'know.” _"...I lost my sight."_ _Not the best of excuses but…it’ll have to make do._   "And I'm good at finding my way by smells."

Brett stared at Matt for a few seconds.

"Are you holding up?" he asked. From his standpoint, those had to be a terrifying several minutes for a blind man like Matt to endure, trapped in a submerged car.

Matt gestured to the bandage on his forehead. "A few scrapes and bruises from the beating Fisk's inmates gave me, but nothing too serious."

"And you didn't bother telling me about this riot yesterday when you two and Foggy came by the union function?"

"I wanted Fisk to think I was dead," Matt answered, an edge now creeping into his voice, "Whatever he's planning, he clearly has it in for me, for Karen here, and for Foggy. And seeing as you're the one who had the honor of putting Fisk back in custody after he escaped, you should probably batten down your hatches too."

"Did you confirm Jasper Evans' release was covered up?" Karen asked.

"No one signed any paperwork or release forms," he answered, "Guy shanks Fisk, then goes ghost in the system without a trace. But we'll find him. Eventually." After a lengthy silence where Matt was unsure whether Brett had more questions or not,  the detective closed his notepad and got up from his chair. “Listen, I got to get going now, and, uh, debrief Manolis on this shitstorm. But...you two take care of yourself.”  

“No problem,” Matt said, he and Karen both shaking Brett’s hand one by one. 

“And uh,” Brett smirked, "Next time do be a little bit better at verifying that your driver is actually who he says he is, Murdock."

 _That was kinda insensitive._ Once Brett departed, Matt was able to drop his shoulders. “Damnit,” he said to Karen. Karen started to open her mouth to speak, but Matt spoke ahead of her. “Fisk has to know I’m alive. He knows I’m not out of the picture just yet.” 

 _Time to take a strike against Fisk._ Without saying another word, Karen got up and grabbed one of her coats off the wall, the black one that had the red inner lining. _The colors of Matt’s armor,_ she’d thought when she bought it a few months before Midland Circle. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, following her into the entry hallway. 

“Red Lion Bank,” she answered, matter-of-factly.

“You’re gonna talk to Felix Manning? Or Stewart Finney?” he sounded alarmed. “Karen, what do you think that’s gonna accomplish?” 

“Fisk knows we’re working together, Matt, so I might as well put him on notice by speaking to his cronies!” Karen said, exasperated. She took a deep breath. “And given what Fisk does to his so-called ‘friends’, why not see whether Felix or Finney have better senses of self-preservation than Wesley.” 

Matt exhaled and put a hand on her shoulder. “I still worry about you too, Karen. You're so unpredictable at times.” 

“I know,” she said, sadly. “But this won’t be like Wesley. I’ll be talking to one of them in public, in front of dozens of people. They'd be stupid to try and snatch me or hurt me physically there.” She gave him a hard wet kiss on the lips before he could say anything. “I’ll be back in about two hours tops. Then we can go uptown and talk to Detective Knight.” 

Matt stammered, dazed by the suddenness of the kiss. “Y-y—yeah, you do that. Just...Karen, be careful,” he said as Karen closed the door behind her. _Time to go find out all there is about you, Jasper Evans_ , he thought as he sat back down on the living room couch and began feeding the files Brett had dropped off into his screen reader. “Where are you, Evans?” he muttered.

* * *

While Matt and Karen were having their morning lovemaking and strategy session, and being questioned by Brett, Fisk was making his next move against their closest friend.

As soon as Felix left the secret war room, Fisk got on the phone with Donovan, and summoned him to the penthouse immediately. He showed up 15 minutes later, his office being only about eight blocks away. Fisk spent the next half hour getting Donovan up to speed about his plans. At 8:30 am sharp, a group of FBI agents joined them around the table in the penthouse living room. The assembled agents were comprised of Nadeem, Hattley, Dex, Lim,  Waller, and Arinori. Fisk was seated at the table facing towards the doors, with Donovan standing just behind and to his left. Nadeem was positioned directly in front of him. Hattley and Dex were to his right/Nadeem’s left. Waller, Lim and Arinori were to his left/Nadeem’s right. All of them stood attentively with their hands clasped in front of them.

“Mr. Fisk,” Hattley said, stiffly, “Mr. Donovan. You have something important you want to share with us?”

“It's time for the government to honor our deal,” Donovan said, “Thanks to my client, the Albanian syndicate has been completely wiped out. Their counterfeiting ring, their Dark Web child pornography. And the Jalisco connection Mr. Fisk divulged last week gave the DEA an early and very white Christmas.”

“And in exchange for his ongoing cooperation, the DOJ will not be filing charges against Vanessa Marianna,” Nadeem completed Donovan’s sentence. He and Hattley were the only two agents at the table who knew the entire terms of Fisk’s informant deal by memory.  As the agent Fisk had made the informant deal with, and the SAC, respectively, they were the ones who worked closely with his lawyers to iron out the terms for the finalized version of the agreement.

“Mr. Fisk is also entitled to the return of certain personal belongings, and supervised movement within the hotel,” Donovan added on, as if an afterthought.

“He'll get everything he was offered. In time,” Nadeem said, slightly agitated, more from being rousted so early than from Fisk trying to be pushy. _Let’s not rush anything along here._

“That time is now, Special Agent Nadeem,” Donovan said, “Unless you'd like my client to stop talking.”

Fisk waved his hand to gesture that he’d like to speak. _I get to do this part._ He exchanged a brief glance at Hattley and Dex before focusing entirely on Nadeem. “FBI has sacrificed a great deal for me. And I will continue to cooperate and trust you'll honor your word.”

Nadeem and Hattley nodded.

“There’s a pair of criminals that I've employed,” Fisk continued, measuring his words, “Facilitators. On my behalf, they've laundered and hid money, bribed law enforcement and court officials, orchestrated perjured testimony, manufactured evidence.”

“Who is he?” Nadeem asked, interested.

“Lawyers," Fisk said, "Matthew Michael Murdock and Franklin 'Percy' Nelson.”

Nadeem scratched his chin. He sat down and removed a notepad from his coat pocket. “What is your connection to them?”

"The papers know them as the men who defended the Punisher," Fisk said, "The righteous heroes standing up for the little guy. But there's another life they're not telling you about..."

Over the next fifteen minutes, Fisk divulged to the assembled agents a highly edited account of his dealings with Nelson & Murdock. The best liars stuck as close to the truth as possible. So Fisk did just that, recite the truth but with some details changed so as to paint the two lawyers as silent accomplice, typically by having them take credit for actions that were in reality conducted by another associate. As he framed it, he’d begun grooming Nelson and Murdock while the two were interning at Landman & Zack. After they split off to start their own firm, Nelson regularly bribed Detective Brett Mahoney of the 15th Precinct for case referrals involving associates of Fisk’s, so the firm could tamper with them. The Union Allied scandal and the John Healy case slotted in nicely here. For the former, Fisk made it seem as if following Farnum’s and Rance’s failures to kill Karen, he’d tasked them with hiring the young woman to work for Nelson & Murdock as a secretary and had ordered them to ensure that she kept her mouth shut. With Healy, Fisk edited the story to make it seem like he’d had James Wesley work with them to blackmail the jury to ensure that Healy got a hung jury (in actuality, Wesley had done this all by himself). He could further back it up by using that little chance meeting he'd had with Murdock at Vanessa's gallery, spinning it to make it seem like it was a planned meeting so they could discuss making sure the tenement case went in Fisk's favor. When questioned about why Nelson & Murdock represented Carl Hoffman when he ratted, Fisk explained that he'd sent the lawyers to try to encourage Hoffman to keep his mouth shut, remind him that the money he'd get for killing Detective Blake wouldn't be given to him if he spoke the truth, but Hoffman refused to play ball with them.

For stuff that happened after his incarceration, Fisk miraculously managed to work in the string-pulling he’d done to get access to Frank Castle so that he could use the Punisher’s skills to dispose of Dutton. The deviations from reality were that in this edited account it was Karen Page on behalf of the lawyers, who passed his message on to Castle to throw his trial, and not a hired guard (which would be validated by the visitors' log). He also credited Nelson for the alleged witness tampering surrounding Dr. Gregory Tepper. And against all odds, he also found a way to take credit for Nelson & Murdock’s dissolution. While the actual details of the firm's breakup were unknown, Fisk was able to twist it as if Murdock's constant absences from court were because he had a disagreement with Nelson about whether to continue representing Fisk and decided to break things off, even visiting Fisk at the prison to inform him he wouldn't be doing Fisk's dirty work anymore. As he then alleged, Nelson stayed in Fisk's employ as he moved to Hogarth Chao & Benowitz, falsifying his brother's books for a loan application (actually Stewart Finney's work). 

Per the fictional story, Nadeem was led to believe that three months ago, on Fisk's direction, he had Nelson meddle in the case of the Midland Circle vigilantes to provide him updates via a proxy on their elimination of Gao and Nobu's remaining people. As for Murdock's reappearance and the events at the prison, Fisk's explanation for it was that Murdock used Midland Circle to fake his death, hid out the last three months, heard about Fisk's release, came out of hiding and tried to persuade Nelson to get away from Fisk, which backfired and culminated in Nelson sending Murdock to the prison to send a message to Vic Jusufi. The riot that subsequently happened was as a result of Jusufi's men trying to kill Murdock, given Murdock was a former accomplice of the man who snitched on them (a lack of security cameras and trust that Vic would keep his mouth shut would hamstring Nadeem's efforts here).

Most of the story was circumstantial, and Fisk knew none of it was true. But by the time Nadeem figured out the truth and Nelson and Murdock's innocence, Dex would've been turned and it'd be too late for him to back out of the deal. Plus, Hattley would be there to ensure Nadeem stayed _in_ if he even thought of blowing the whistle.

"...that is all I have to say at this time," he said, concluding his story.

“Thank you for this information, Mr. Fisk,” Nadeem said at the conclusion of Fisk’s phony story. He got up from the table, and he and the other agents in the room filed out.

As Hattley was putting her coat on, Fisk stood up and tapped Donovan's shoulder. “Stay. I need a few minutes with Hattley to discuss this…matter…concerning Agent Poindexter. This has to be off-the-record.”

Donovan nodded. Hattley was about to follow Arinori out the door when he spoke up. “Special Agent Hattley?” Donovan asked. “We need a minute with you, alone.”

Hattley turned to Arinori and said, “Keep the cameras off and don't let anyone in for the next couple minutes.”

“You want to be alone with him?” Arinori asked, concerned. "With what he has on you?"

“He’s not gonna do anything to me up here,” Hattley replied. _Allison, if Fisk punishes me for this, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

“You’re the boss,” Arinori sighed and exited the penthouse, shutting the doors behind him. Hattley turned to face Fisk, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.

“Sir,” she said, swallowing bile forming in her throat, “If you’re going to ream me out about speaking to Karen Page and Matt Murdock the other day, I swear to God…I had no idea that they’d be coming.” Fisk could hear her subtextual plea of _please don’t hurt my daughter._

“In the future, you need to inform me of these things sooner, Special Agent Hattley,” Fisk said, his voice rising, “I insist that bad news be delivered to me immediately.”

Hattley waved her hands. “If there’s anything I can do to make this up for you”-

“You can tell me the progress of the Office of Professional Responsibility’s investigation into Agent Poindexter.”

Hattley nodded slowly as Fisk sat back down in his chair. After a long pause, she answered, “Winn doesn’t believe your corroboration of Dex’s bullshit story. He says you’re not a reliable witness.” Even minus Fisk’s deceptions, that was actually true. He was trapped in an overturned SUV when Dex had started shooting, and the double-kill that had gotten the OPR investigation opened into him, Fisk had had to witness that through bullet-ridden, bulletproof glass. His vision wouldn’t have been the best.

“I see.” Fisk nodded slowly. “And the background files that Felix has asked of you?”

“They’re being printed at the office as we speak,” Hattley said, “I went as far as back to the start of Dex's employment, as per your instructions. I can have your silver-haired sycophant here…” She shot a look at Donovan, who wasn’t put off by her insult. “…bring them over later today, if you’d like?”

Donovan leaned over and whispered into Fisk’s ear, “Now might be the time to throw Poindexter under the bus.”

Fisk nodded, acknowledging Donovan’s advice, and addressed Hattley. “And what will Poindexter be facing when it is found that his…actions were not justifiable?”

“At best, a lengthy suspension without pay for six months,” she outlined, “I don’t think he’ll be indicted. The people above me, they're afraid of the bad headlines that would result.”

“Tomorrow,” Fisk declared. “It needs to happen tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure that will be possible,” Hattley tried to say.

“Karen Page and Matthew Murdock are becoming a nuisance to this operation,” Fisk stated, resisting the urge to raise his voice, “My plans for them can only be carried out by Poindexter, and the timetable is very tight.”

Hattley glanced at her watch. “What do you want me to do?”

“Contact Jennifer Many at the _New York Bulletin_ ,” he said. That was the reporter the _Bulletin_ had officially assigned to covering Fisk’s release from prison and everything that went with it. “Show her the differences between Poindexter’s statements and what the forensic evidence says.”

Hattley nodded. “Yes, sir.” She remained standing there, pondering.

"...You have something else to say," Fisk broke the silence.

Hattley bit her lip. "This stuff you've just said to Ray about Nelson & Murdock, none of it's true, right?" she asked. Noticing the disapproving look on Fisk's face, she backpedaled, "Nothing personal. Just...I'm curious."

"All of that is true," her employer answered, slowly, "Other than the parts where they're implicated. For one, Mr. Nelson knows nothing about his brother's...situation."

Hattley slowly nodded. "Great. That's uh, reassuring." With that, she turned and exited the penthouse, leaving Fisk with Donovan.

"Go to the Tombs and speak to Mr. Williamson, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Munoz," Fisk directed Donovan, "I want to know more about the individual who subdued them." If that indeed was Matt Murdock who had taken out his men at the A-Train Diner, he would be very...displeased, as Wesley would say.

* * *

As Karen rode the 2 train down to Wall Street station, just a few blocks away from Red Lion National Bank in the Financial District, she felt very uneasy. After last night's incident with the catcallers, she couldn't help but scan the other passengers in the car, looking for any ne'er-do-wells to beat the shit out of. She was instinctively clutching her purse to her chest, wanting to have her gun readily accessible in the worst case scenario. _God, one of these days I'm going to be the next Bernard Goetz. I believe his act of vigilantism happened on this line, actually._ It was stupid to think Fisk's men would go after her in a crowded subway car, but with Fisk, she just had to assume the worst. Fortunately, nothing came of it, and she exited the train without any incidents unfolding.

Red Lion National Bank was the sort of place Karen doubted she would ever have a chance of getting an account at even if she sacrificed her soul and donated all of her blood. Tall vaulted ceilings like the Vatican. Gold cuff links on marble counters. The smell of freshly printed money. It was like a cathedral.

 _Focus on the target, Karen._ One of the objects of Karen’s investigation was seated at an open office on the east side of the lobby, working on his computer.

Felix Manning was a man in his mid-fifties, with a receding hairline, craggy features, and sporting a very crisp three piece suit. True to Silvio’s word, he looked like Daniel Craig’s version of James Bond, if Daniel Craig had more wrinkles on him and his hair was a dirty brown instead of golden blond. He looked like he was in very good spirits.

“Felix Manning?” Karen asked as she stepped through the swinging gate partitioning his office from the main lobby. Felix looked up from his computer and studied her. “You haven't returned my calls. I’m Karen Page, from the _Bulletin_.”

Felix didn’t seem annoyed at Karen intruding his space. In hindsight, she should’ve seen that as a red flag since most bank employees would not take too kindly to random people barging into their office space like this.

 _Okay, he’s not the talkative kind, is he?_ Karen thought. She took out her notepad and pen. _Let’s see if the threat of Fisk cutting him loose can do anything to his vocal chords._

“Before I go to print, I'm obligated to offer you a chance to comment on your involvement in laundering money for Wilson Fisk,” Karen continued.

No response from Felix.

“Look, if you talk to me off the record, help me connect some dots, I promise I will keep your name out of it. But that is only if you talk to me.”

Felix still didn’t say anything. Karen was starting to worry that this interview wasn’t going to end well. She had a hard time deciding why Felix was being surprisingly mute. Was he just trying to formulate a response to her questions? Was he afraid of Fisk killing him in retribution? Or was he so loyal to Fisk that he wouldn’t say a word about the operation to anyone unless physical force was used?  That gave Karen an idea: if she actually was going to write a story alleging Felix’s involvement in criminal activities, it would probably persuade Fisk to turn against Felix, as he was getting too much unwanted attention.  Karen hoped that Felix was someone Fisk could easily turn on, just like his Russian and Hand contacts and even close associates like Owlsley, when he’d decided that their services were no longer needed.

“You're a fixer, Mr. Manning,” she said, “You're a freelancer. Other clients, a lot to lose. Once this story breaks, Fisk is gonna hang you out to dry. If I were you, I would start looking out for myself.”

Felix took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to respond. What he said was the last thing Karen wanted to hear.

“Karen Page,” Felix said, in a rather posh accent, “Daughter of Paxton and Penelope. 239 Kings Road, Fagan Corners, Vermont. You had the back room. My guess, Dad wanted his little girl to be safe." He reached into a drawer in his desk and grabbed a newspaper. "Sadly, he should've been more worried about his little boy. Drug addicts really do destroy families, don't they?”

Karen froze, and her eyes went wide as Felix set the newspaper down on the desk. It was a copy of the  _Fagan Corners Star,_ dated the day after Kevin's death. The page emblazoned with a black and white photo of the family's wrecked 1993 Jeep Grand Cherokee on the back of a tow truck, after the emergency workers had had it turned upright to remove Kevin's body, under the caption "DINER COOK DIES IN SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT". Karen suddenly felt incredibly dizzy. The walls and floor seemed to warp and dip wildly around her, and it took every ounce of strength to not faint. _Fucking shit! Fuck!_ Fisk didn’t just have evidence that Matt was Daredevil, he had evidence about her past life before she came to New York. The stuff that she’d said to Ben would mean no one would look at her seriously if it went to print!

“Off the record,” Felix said, standing up, aware that Karen was wetting her panties in response to his bombshell, “You are incorrect. About what I do for a living. I don't fix problems. I make them disappear.”

* * *

Karen hightailed it out of the bank, hyperventilating and her hands shaking with uncontrolled rage. She couldn’t think of anything else beyond _I gotta contact Matt_ as she began making her way back to the 2 train. Felix, and by extension Fisk, knew everything about her. About her brother. About her drug addiction. About her relationship with Todd. Matt was right about Fisk coming after them with all he had. Jesus, she should have seen this coming! She’d shown her face when she and Matt roughed up Donovan in the garage! Even if it weren’t for that, her involvement with Union Allied, and with Daniel Fisher's death, was public knowledge. And with her change of occupation, she was no longer an under-the-radar person like she'd been at Nelson  & Murdock. The  _Bulletin_ job had given her a bit of a celebrity status. Maybe not as much as Trish Walker had at _Trish Talk_ before her temporary absence from the show in the scandal surrounding IGH and the suspicious death of Dr. Karl Malus, but still enough that she was a household name in the press circles.  She remembered a conversation she’d had with Ben a few hours after she killed Wesley, when she’d approached him at his apartment and, while not mentioning the details of Wesley's death, warned him that people knew about their visit to Marlene.

_“No, you have to trust me on this, Ben,” she’d said, “We need that story out there before it is too late.”_

_“You could always post it yourself on the net,” Ben suggested. “You don't need me.”_

_“And who'll believe me when they start digging?” Karen asked. “When they find what you found when you were looking into me.”_  
  
And then there was what Ben had said during one of their first meetings as they’d first investigated the Union Allied money trail. _“Stories like this are built on sources, Miss Page, **credible** sources. I did some, uh, digging into your, uh…past activities.” _

Ben was probably right to worry about her credibility being shot. If Fisk ran stories about how Karen Page killed her brother while driving under the influence, that was it for her. There’d be a seed of doubt cast upon every piece, every byline, she’d written for the past year.

But how could Fisk have found out the whole truth? Two possible sources came to mind: her father, or worse, someone in the _Bulletin_. Ellison had mentioned the possibility yesterday of Fisk having moles in the _Bulletin_ besides Caldwell, and one of them could easily have gotten access to his copies of Ben's research into Karen, since he never locked his office. The alternate possibility was that Fisk had sent someone up to Fagan Corners and intimidated her dad. _Dad..._ Karen knew her dad didn't want her around in Fagan Corners anymore, as he'd made clear after Kevin's funeral, but the idea of him getting roughed up by Fisk's men was very...frightening. _I better call him to see if he's okay. And call Ellison and ask him to grill every other reporter in the office._

She decided to start with Ellison, dialing his cell number.

"Ellison," he answered.

"It's Karen," Karen said, speaking quickly, "I'm in trouble!"

"Karen, calm down," Ellison said, "What's happening?"

Karen took a deep breath. "I think Fisk knows about my past activities."

"Oh," Ellison said, after a long pause.

"Well I think he's gotten to someone else on the payroll," she replied.

"What do you propose I do? I can't exactly do much from here," Ellison said, sounding apologetic.

"You're the editor in chief! Go over everyone on the staff and see who has access to your office or has come into money recently!" Karen snapped, hanging up before Ellison could reply. She felt a little bad rudely hanging up on her boss like that, but she didn't care. She was not going to let her past define who she was.

She was just nearing 23 Wall Street when she heard the sirens. Barely had she realized they were a few hundred feet away when a pair of dark black SUVs with tinted windows came to a stop at the corner right in front of her. Karen paused, wondering what was happening. _Those are federal SUVs, judging from the 'US GOVERNMENT' plates._ A moment later, a dark-skinned man emerged from one of the cars, accompanied by a brunette Latina woman in her early thirties and they began walking towards her. Karen’s eyes widened as she recognized the man. This was one of the FBI agents that had shot at Matt in the Presidential Hotel's parking garage the other day.

“Karen Page?” the male agent asked, flashing an FBI badge.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Don't move.” The agents began to step closer to her.

“Uh I have a weapon in my purse! And a concealed carry permit!” Karen exclaimed, raising her hands. When she’d applied for her permit, in the weeks following Fisk's arrest, Brett had advised her that it would be in her best interest whenever stopped by the police to declare that she was carrying a weapon on her, as it would be the safest way to ensure that she didn’t get shot.

“Keep your hands exactly where they are and follow my instructions,” the male agent said. Karen nodded. “Now turn around.”

“Okay.” Karen reluctantly turned around, facing away from the cars, and let the female agent pat down her arms and legs for weapons. “Okay. Okay. Okay. What do you want?”

“We need you to come with us please, answer a few questions for us,” the female agent said, “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Karen tried her best to hide her fear. These agents had to be in Fisk’s pocket, and had been tasked with taking her to some warehouse where they were going to kill her and dump her body.

“Oh—okay,” she whispered.

* * *

 The two FBI agents loaded Karen into the back of their SUV and drove off. Karen was confused when she noticed that they weren't going to the FBI offices, and instead were taking the Williamsburg Bridge out of Manhattan.

  
She tensed up, unsure where they might be going as the SUV navigated the twisted streets of Brooklyn. The agents were not using their lights or their sirens, and they were conversing quietly about Garcia and Torres, two of the agents who had been killed during the motorcade attack. Apparently their funerals were being held next week, and Garcia had left behind a wife and three kids.  Both of the agents barely seemed to even acknowledge that Karen existed.

Then they came to a stop at a high-rise apartment building off Sixth Street in north Williamsburg, west of Kent Street. There were several FBI and NYPD vehicles with their lights flashing parked on the street, where it abruptly ended . Her breathing accelerated, as she recognized just whose building this was. This was the building where Foggy and Marci's apartment was. She recognized it from the few times she'd come over in the past few months to hang out with Marci and Foggy, when she couldn't stand being alone in her apartment, or Matt's after she'd moved into his place. _What the hell are we doing here?  
_

"Right this way, ma'am," the female agent said, opening the rear door to let Karen out.

Without saying another word, the agents escorted Karen into the building’s elevator. Moments later, they were on their way up the elevator to the 30th floor of 22 North Sixth Street, where Foggy and Marci’s apartment was located. She was surprised to find Foggy and Marci's apartment door wide open and a pair of uniformed cops standing outside.

“What do you want from me?! What’s happened?! Why'd you bring me here?!” Karen was speaking rapidly, firing off questions a mile a minute as the agents who picked her up ushered her into the apartment. FBI agents wearing blue windbreakers were combing over every surface of the apartment, rifling through cabinets and looking under furniture, as if they were trying to find illegal contraband.  Standing by the couch in the middle of the living room, with its nice sweeping panoramic views of the East River and the Lower East Side, was Ray Nadeem. He no longer had a bandage on his forehead, and he looked very displeased as the two agents led Karen over to him.

“I asked them to,” Nadeem said.

“Is Foggy okay? Is Marci okay? You wanna tell me what's going on?!” Karen demanded. _Why the hell are the FBI doing this?!_

“Miss Page, I get that you ask questions for a living, but, for now, I'll be the one asking,” Nadeem said, taking out his notepad. “When's the last time you spoke to Foggy Nelson or Matt Murdock?”

“Um, I speak to Foggy at least once or twice a week,” she answered, "And seeing as I live with Matt, I speak to him daily."

“Have you seen or spoken to Nelson recently?” Nadeem asked.

“Not since last night,” Karen replied.

“He give you any indication where he might be right now?”

“I would suggest you check WJBP in an hour or so,” Karen said, checking her watch. “Or maybe see his brother down at Nelson’s Meats.” Karen felt her voice turning hard.  _Has Fisk bribed these people? Matt theorized that the FBI were bribed to let Fisk make that phone call to him at the prison, and he overheard Felix talking to Rosalie Carbone about members of the FBI being in Fisk's pocket._ “H…how much bribe money is Fisk paying you, Agent Nadeem?!”

“You were a secretary for Nelson & Murdock, is that correct?” Nadeem asked, ignoring her accusation.

“Mmm-mmm. Office manager,” Karen gritted her teeth, voice laced with venom. She _hated_ being referred to as Nelson & Murdock’s former secretary. It was such a demeaning word. She had been more than a secretary at the firm. She greeted clients, did investigative work, and she did the books. Hell, she did so much for the firm that Matt had with the utmost sincerity told her during Frank's trial that if not for her not having a law degree, she'd be a very capable third partner. _"Just thought it might be more fun as Nelson, Murdock & Page_," he'd said.

“And when did the firm first start working for Wilson Fisk?” he asked.

 _Ahhhhhhhhh… so Fisk has led him to think Nelson & Murdock did dirty work for him, and he’s using the FBI to harass us, starting with Foggy, _Karen realized. _That is just bullshit. Anyone with a working brain would know that is not true. Wait until I get Matt to sue you people for malicious prosecution._ “We never worked for Wilson Fisk,” Karen replied, doing her best not to sound too defensive. Nadeem lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t seem convinced.

“Hold on.” Nadeem reached into his pocket and produced a check. Karen’s breath hitched as she recognized it. It was the check that Wesley had passed across the table to them when he hired them to defend Healy. It had her signature on it, from when she’d deposited it at the Midtown branch of Empire Credit Union following her meeting with the Union Allied lawyers. A check that Foggy had been very eager to accept, while Matt had been right to be suspicious about.

“Is that your signature?" Nadeem asked. "Do you remember depositing this retainer check for a company called Confederated Global Investments?”

“Yes, I do,” Karen said, slowly. Yes, it was a matter of public record that they’d defended one of Fisk’s hitmen, and that Confederated Global wrote the check. But they hadn’t known until a few weeks after the Healy trial had finished that Confederated Global was one of Fisk’s main revenue streams. _So why is Nadeem asking it like we did more work for Fisk than just that one case? Anyone who bothered to do any sort of research would find it hard to believe that the firm that took down Wilson Fisk also worked for him the whole time._ She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled. “Look, we took on one case for them. That's all.”

“According to my source, CGI was a front for Fisk.” Nadeem tapped his notepad.

“Yeah well, we didn't know that at the time!” Karen pointed a finger at the ceiling, exasperated. _We didn’t know yet because Wesley didn’t even dare say his name. And before that morning, we didn’t even know about this shell company’s existence._

“But you do now. So you see how your last answer wasn't technically accurate?”

Karen was already in a crappy mood, between getting shot at yesterday, Matt’s identity being compromised, and having just learned that Fisk knew all about her background too. And she was in an even worse mood now, being accused (along with Matt and Foggy) of working for a man she hated.  “Okay, we never _knowingly_ worked for Fisk,” Karen corrected. _Matt didn’t know it was Fisk who hired us until he beat the shit out of the client we got hired to defend. And Foggy and I didn't make the connection until Matt obtained those papers from Owlsley and gave them to Ben._ “They hired us through someone else.”

“Who?”

Karen shrugged. “Some executive,” she said, crossing her arms. _Please don’t ask me about Wesley, please don’t…_

“Hang on.” Nadeem flipped open another file folder and displayed the front of it clearly to Karen. Karen felt her heart flip as she saw the photograph of James Wesley’s face that was clipped to the front. Even three years later, it was still enough to give her flashes of that night in the warehouse. It was like what had happened with that near-doppelganger of Wesley she'd run into on the Q train on Monday night, on the way home from dinner with Ellison's family.

“Was it this guy?" he asked. "James Wesley? You remember him?”

Karen pretended to study the photo. _It's him. But he doesn't look so attractive when he doesn't have seven bullets in his body._

“Uh, yeah. That was him,” she said. "Why?”

“Just trying to put the pieces together,” Nadeem said, setting the folder down.

From what Karen could tell, Fisk had told Nadeem about how, through Wesley, he’d hired Nelson & Murdock to defend Healy for the Prohaszka killing. But that didn’t justify raiding Foggy and Marci’s apartment and acting like they were even more crooked than Ben Donovan, unless...Fisk had led Nadeem to think Matt and Foggy were in league with Wesley and had assisted him in rigging the hung jury that had gotten Healy off. Nadeem seemed to be under the impression that the firm had engaged in unscrupulous conduct during the Healy trial. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to come to such a conclusion. Karen mused that Wesley probably kept notes of his meetings with business partners and underlings for reference. If indeed he'd made such a record of his meeting with Nelson & Murdock, his entry probably went something like, _“Mr. Nelson was all too happy to accept the check I made out to the firm on behalf of Confederated Global. Mr. Murdock, on the other hand, he was persnickety and asking all sorts of questions of the most peculiar nature.”_ It was actually a little creepy that she imagined such a remark in Wesley's monotone voice. But just as quickly as she came up with that theory, she shot it down. Fisk would’ve made such a record "disappear into a black hole", as she'd like to say, after Wesley died.

As she stood there in the middle of her friend's apartment, it hit Karen. _The campaign._ Fisk was presumably allowed to receive newspapers in his hotel suite. He must have seen the same front page with Foggy's photo on it as everyone else in the city had. Putting herself in Fisk's shoes to understand his side of things, Karen surmised that it would not be a good thing for him if Foggy unseated Blake Tower. That front page was practically a declaration of war. In which case, it would make sense that Fisk would send the FBI to harass Matt and Foggy and try to scare Foggy into backing out of the race. Matt being outed as Daredevil probably wasn't something that would be good for Foggy's campaign, especially when there were a few people, like Brett, who had noticed a connection between Nelson & Murdock's cases and Daredevil's interests. _Matt better have a good cover story for that._

Karen felt a bead of sweat forming on her brow as it occurred to her that it would only be a matter of time before Nadeem began probing her life and Matt's life, and found evidence linking Matt to Daredevil, assuming Fisk hadn't disclosed that to the FBI. _Hopefully I can get Nadeem to reverse direction on this bullshit witch hunt of his before he starts uncovering any of my skeletons, or Matt's for that matter. Especially Matt's. Perhaps I should give up some of the information Matt and I have uncovered. That's what cooperation entails, right?_ “Okay. Uh, well, here are some other pieces for you to put together,” Karen offered. “Um, Felix Manning? Red Lion National Bank? Vancorp? Silvio Manfredi? Rosalie Carbone? Any of that ring any bells?” She chose not to mention Jasper Evans, in the interest of keeping him alive. She couldn't be certain that all of the agents in the room were clean.

“I don't follow,” Nadeem said, refusing to be swayed by Karen’s attempt to turn the interview back on him.

“Well, instead of letting Fisk use you and the FBI to retaliate against innocent lawyers who put him in prison, why don't you ask him if he ordered a drive-by shooting on Silvio Manfredi in Harlem yesterday afternoon!” Karen's voice rose in pitch and volume until she was shouting, and every agent in the room was staring at her. “Ask him if he hired a fixer named Felix Manning and a banker named Stewart Finney to launder money through Red Lion! Or maybe ask him if he’s running an extortion racket, collecting protection money from every big crime organization in the city! While you're at it, ask him if he ordered a prison riot at Rikers yesterday in an attempt to kill Matt Murdock! And ask him if he's the true owner of a shell company called Vancorp!”

“Why would I do that?” Nadeem asked, giving her a look of _“I don’t like people who act like smartasses to me."_   He was pretty caught off guard by all of Karen's various accusations.  _How does she know all this?_ he was thinking.

“Because it just bought the Presidential Hotel,” Karen snapped.

“Where are you getting all this from?” Nadeem asked.

 _My due diligence and my hot blind boyfriend who'll be happy to take you to court._ “I ask questions for a living,” Karen smirked, knives in her voice, “I just ask better ones than you do. Like, has your so-called prisoner just bought the prison you're keeping him in?” _Okay, that was maybe a little bit too sassy..._

“Has he bought?” Nadeem made a face. “So this is what? Just a theory? You have any proof?”

“Fisk is using you, Agent Nadeem. That's what he does,” she growled. “Is that a no? Am I under arrest?”

“Not at this time.”

 _So I'm free to go. That's great, 'cause I don't want to put up with your questions any longer._ “Then I think I’m done answering the wrong questions,” Karen said, turning around and marching out the door. _Now if you'll excuse me, I have a vigilante and lawyer boyfriend to warn about this bullshit, and a mafia queen to go provoke..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Foggy Bear. Unfortunately, Marci, your idea to Foggy that "The best way to protect yourself from Fisk is to make noise, is to be out in the open!” and “The more public you are, the more you're protected"? [grimaces] It probably is not the most ideal way to challenge a man as rich and connected as Wilson Fisk. Sorry. :(
> 
> That was actually one thing that bothered me about season 3, and that's that Foggy's District Attorney campaign should've meant a lot more spotlight on him, and thus meant he'd be even more vulnerable to attacks from Fisk. Realistically, I think Fisk should've started playing his leverage on Foggy at least a full four episodes before he ultimately did in the actual show. 
> 
> Also, since Matt is more active in the timeframe of episode 5 in this AU, I needed to find a way for Matt to be an active participant in the investigation and not be tied up in custody.
> 
> EDIT (as of 5/13/19): I decided it made more sense for Fisk to target Matt and Foggy rather than just Foggy or just Matt. The FBI are hitting Foggy first because he's the more active threat as a DA candidate, and Fisk has convinced Nadeem that Matt is still an accomplice, but less so than Foggy. 
> 
> **Some other notes:**  
>  \--If you're wondering why I put Foggy and Marci as living in North Williamsburg, I'm basing that on the view out the windows when we're in their apartment in episode 4. At the moment when Foggy and Marci kiss during that scene, you can see what looks like the buildings of the East Village in the backdrop across the East River. It's actually not too far from a pier where they filmed Ben Urich's riverside meetings with Karen during season 1.
> 
> \--Yes, you can see I shifted the famous "there's no corpse" line of Born Again from Ben Donovan to Felix Manning. Given Felix Manning has a larger role in this story than in the original show, I thought it was only appropriate for Felix to get the line.


	13. A Productive Harlem Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen deal with the news of Fisk's newest move against them, and venture uptown to get information essential to their original plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get into a very hard area to write, because again, I had to give Matt something to do during "The Perfect Game", and also give Karen stuff to do during the day.
> 
> This chapter is one long Matt/Karen chapter. Don't worry, we'll get to check back in with Fisk and Dex in the next chapter.

Matt devoured Brett’s files voraciously, running them through his braille reader, dictating notes to his computer, as he sought to piece together a complete criminal profile of Jasper Evans. What he found in the course of the two hours of research he got in while Karen was out painted the picture of a petty criminal who probably agreed to a job from Fisk in hopes of getting enough money to retire from the criminal game.

Born on March 8, 1970, Jasper Evans was not a stranger to the law, being in and out of prison for various petty crimes as a teen. It all came to a head on one hot day in the summer of 1991. On June 11, he walked into a convenience store in Hell’s Kitchen carrying a gun, intending to rob the place. The robbery did not go as planned. According to the police report, words were exchanged between Jasper and the cashier he was holding up at gunpoint. Things got heated. And before anyone knew what had happened, Jasper shot and killed the cashier as well as an old woman in her 60s who tried to intervene. A half-dozen witnesses in the store identified him to the police, who tracked him down and arrested him merely 48 hours later. Convicted of two counts of murder as well as armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, and illegal possession of a firearm, he was handed a life sentence and placed in Rikers Island. Fast-forward 26.5 years later, and somehow, Jasper had been persuaded to participate in Fisk’s false flag operation to manipulate the FBI into moving him to the Presidential Hotel.

Despite Vic’s claims that Jasper was bribed, Matt had every reason to suspect that he had been intimidated into cooperating. Matt knew Fisk had spares to use to ensure people stayed loyal if bribery didn’t get them to keep doing his dirty work for him. So Jasper must have had loved ones that could be used to narrow down where he might be currently hidden away. As luck would have it, Jasper had a son, Matthew Evans, by a girlfriend named Elena Fitzgerald, born in 1991 shortly before his father was arrested. Matthew Evans’ current address was a rowhouse on 44th Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues. If he was Fisk’s leverage over Jasper, suffice to say that Fisk probably would hide him there so as to remind him of who would pay the price if he stepped out of line.

With such a close address, Matt could easily go down there tonight as Daredevil, grab Jasper, and put him on record with the _Bulletin_. But that wouldn’t get Fisk on the most serious crimes, just the shanking. And with his thumbs in law enforcement, it wouldn’t stop the protection racket Fisk was running as he could easily continue it from behind bars. He’d shown this already. So Matt was still intent on triggering a civil war between Fisk and Rosalie Carbone, using the information from Ben Urich’s research on her father’s murder. The conflict would draw the Carbones and Fisk under extra scrutiny from the NYPD, and lower level members of both organizations would be pressured into turning informant to bring new RICO charges against the bosses.

However, there was one small problem with that plan: finding concrete evidence or a witness linking Fisk to the crime. Ben’s notes were meticulous, but sadly, they gave no indication as to the identity of the assailants who committed the Carbone hit. This wasn't shocking, as the homicide was committed in the 29th Precinct, itself a hotbed of police corruption, so anyone could've easily ordered the investigation scuttled. Matt wanted to be absolutely certain that Fisk was the one who ordered the hit. For that, he needed information that Ben had not been able to find.  _Like, maybe there was a witness who can finger an assassin we know worked for Fisk._

As he began to brew a second cup of coffee, he suddenly realized that he knew someone in the 29th Precinct who might have answers. _Detective Knight._ Even before he’d met Misty Knight in the wake of Jessica’s case involving John Raymond, he’d heard of her from Karen’s stories in the _Bulletin_. How she’d been involved in tackling organized crime in Harlem for years. How her late partner, Detective Rafael Scarfe, turned out be on the payroll of Mariah Dillard’s cousin Cottonmouth. She and Luke had to be as versed in Harlem’s gang culture as Matt was in Hell’s Kitchen’s. Both detectives, it turned out, had been the investigators in the death of Salvatore Carbone.

Returning to the couch, Matt decided to call up Misty. Since he didn’t have the benefit of knowing her personal cell number, like he did with Brett, he’d have to reach her through the directory. He didn't get the chance to dial, because as he was about to contact the NYPD non-emergency line, his senses were filled by the sound of a familiar set of heels ascending the stairwell towards his apartment. _Karen’s back, already_. He set his phone down, just as she unlocked the front door and let herself in.

As Karen made her way into the living room, Matt realized something must have gone horribly wrong on her visit to the bank. Her heart was pounding like a jackrabbit and everything else about her screamed of stress and fear.   _Did she kill someone or something?_ The last time he’d ever sensed Karen acting like this had been the night she killed Wesley, and he found her working late at the office. Her fingers were shaking as she dropped her purse on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to him.

“Hey,” she said, her voice cracked. "Something came up."

“No, it’s okay,” Matt said, soothingly. “What happened, Karen?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Karen crossed her arms.

“Okay.” Matt sighed. Whatever happened to Karen, it wasn’t something she wanted to just say out loud. “Can I get you something to drink? I can brew some more coffee,” he offered.

“No,” she looked down at her lap. “I’m fine.”

“All right,” he said.  _Something's wrong._ “Are you okay?”

There he went again with the bad questions. Sometimes being around Karen made him feel like an awkward teenage boy asking out a girl he was too shy to approach.

Karen turned away from Matt and rubbed her arms, like she was trying to get warmth back into them. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Matt said, slowly. “Okay. You’re not alone, Karen. Are you _sure_ you are okay?”

Karen clasped her hands together. “No,” she said. Then she swallowed. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“Goddamnit!” Karen snapped, exasperated. “ _Shit._ I shouldn’t have gone there. I should’ve seen this coming—”

“Did something happen?” Matt asked, taking one of her hands and squeezing it. “With Red Lion? With—with your visit to them? Did something happen?”

Karen went white. Her heart began beating faster, like she was about to start hyperventilating. He heard a swoosh from her hair as she turned away from him, facing  his desk. She shook her head. “Matt,” she said, rough. “Stop _asking_.”

“You’re clearly not okay,” Matt pointed out, “You were fine when you left two hours ago and now you’re acting all terrified again, like you were that night you shot Wesley.”

Karen scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, sometimes asking around and pissing off the wrong people gets you into a hell of a lot of shit.”

Well, that helped, a little. Matt took a deep breath and asked, in as soothing a voice as he could, “Did Fisk—did Fisk learn about it? About Fagan Corners? Or Wesley?”

Karen jerked her head once, and is silent.

“Did someone else learn about it?”

Karen flinched. “Matt,” she said, again. “Please…”

“They did, didn’t they?” Matt felt his anger bubbling beneath the surface. _Fisk knows not just about Daredevil, but about what Karen did before she ever came to New York._ He wanted Fisk’s blood under his nails. “They—they found out what you did to your brother. Did he send someone after you? Did they blackmail you?”

“ _No_ ,” Karen said, pressing her hands to her head. She sounded very fragile.

“Karen. Sweetheart.” Matt squeezed her hand gently, like his father trying to comfort him in the hospital after he’d been blinded. “You can talk to me. You know you can talk to me.”

Karen began breathing heavily.

"Hey, Karen. Breathe,"  Matt said.

“ _Matt_!”

“Okay, don’t,” Matt retreated to his side of the couch. Karen got up, clenching her hands into fists and pacing around the room, a tiger in a cage. "What the hell's wrong?"

“EVERYTHING!” she exclaimed. “The lows Fisk sinks to… it's shit I can’t even imagine! It’s like Fisk wants to fucking obliterate everything that we stand for! And I have just had it! He’s got our secrets to control us, and this shit he’s doing with the FBI…!” She shuddered.

“Hold on,” Matt said, but Karen didn't seem to hear. “What’s the FBI doing-”

“It’s Foggy!” Karen shouted. “He’s going after Foggy!”

Matt was frozen. He was probably going to need more than a minute to get his own anger under control. Every time he thought Fisk couldn't possibly come up with another way to piss him off, that monster found a new way to surprise him. He would’ve thought that Fisk’s response to learning his secret identity would’ve been to go after him. He was the one who’d visited him in jail and threatened to keep Vanessa from ever coming back to the United States. Maybe get him disbarred, ruin his finances, blow up this nice apartment of his. But no, he’d apparently decided that he’d be better off ruining Matt’s best friend and former law partner, who was, from a certain perspective, a relative innocent in all of this.

“Foggy is being targeted?!” he asked, unable to believe what Karen was saying. But deep down, even without reading Karen’s heartbeat, he knew it was true. Foggy wasn’t as upfront as Matt or Karen with challenging Fisk. In fact, in both Matt’s and Karen’s initial investigations, Foggy was a latecomer to their proceedings. At the same time, though, the D.A. campaign had brought Foggy out into the spotlight. _This is exactly why I was against Foggy doing this in the first place!_ Matt scowled. _He’s putting too much of a target on himself and his loved ones!_

“Yes,” Karen whispered, breathing rapidly, “The FBI are looking into him, they’re acting like you and Foggy were criminal accomplices to Fisk. Either they're bribed or they're just plain stupid enough to think we actually worked for the man-”

“Whoa-whoa, hold on,” Matt waved his hands. “Take a deep breath. Breath, breath, Karen.” He needed to know what exactly the FBI were doing to Foggy, and he couldn't do that when Karen was in a state of distress.

* * *

It took downing almost an entire bottle of vodka for Karen to calm down enough to talk.

“I went to Red Lion National Bank hoping to find Stewart Finney or Felix Manning there,” she said. She and Matt were still sitting on the couch. “Since Fisk likes to keep things buried and below the radar, I decided to see if the threat of their misdeeds being published in the _Bulletin_ would be enough to get one of them to talk. Stewart wasn't there, but Felix was.”

“And what did he say?”

Karen sighed. “Well he didn’t crack,” she said. She looked down at her hands, steadying herself before continuing. “Instead, he revealed he knew _everything_ about what I did in Fagan Corners. My drug addiction. My relationship with Todd. Kevin’s death.”

Matt felt his anger boiling. It wasn’t just his secrets that Fisk was aware of, but Karen’s too.

“So Felix has knowledge of everything you told me about two nights ago,” Matt said, pointedly. _Great._

“He dropped a copy of the Fagan Corners newspaper from the day after Kevin died,” Karen said, disgusted, “Like he wanted me to know _I know all about these skeletons you’re running from and my employer will plaster these in the papers if you don’t leave him alone_ , or some other shit.”

Matt bit his lip. “And that’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. On that front.” Karen sipped at her coffee.

 _That explains the part about Fisk knowing about her past. But what about the FBI?_ “So what about the FBI targeting Foggy?” Matt changed the subject.

Karen took a moment to compose her thoughts. “So I’m on my way back to the subway to come back here, all the while on the phone with Ellison demanding that he scour the _Bulletin_ for a leaker.”

“You think Fisk has someone in the _Bulletin_ working for him?” Matt asked.

“He has to! He had Caldwell on his payroll,” Karen snorted, “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have a spare or two besides her.” She swallowed. “Anyways, I’m about a block away from catching the 2 train when these FBI cars pull up with their black tinted windows. And they tell me that I’m to come with them.”

“You cooperated with them?”

“What was I supposed to do, Matt?” Karen said, anger flaring up. “So they drive me. But not to the FBI offices. They took me out into Brooklyn and straight to Foggy and Marci’s apartment in Williamsburg. Next thing I know, I’m in their apartment, and Ray Nadeem himself is there asking me all sorts of questions about our firm’s work with Fisk.”

Matt made a face. _“Our firm’s work with Fisk.” We never worked with Fisk._ “What do you mean?”

Karen swallowed a lump of bile. “That’s the thing! Nadeem was accusing Nelson & Murdock of working for Fisk! And that makes no fucking sense! We’re publicly known as the law firm that took Fisk down. Hell, I got the _Bulletin_ article about Hoffman's plea deal framed on the wall in my office. Anyone with a working left brain would know we’d never work for that asshole!”

 _I can see how someone might be misled to think that_ , Matt realized. When they took down Fisk, they were just starting Nelson & Murdock and building their client base. But in retrospect, there was one thing about those first few months that a researcher might notice. _Our first three big cases involved Fisk: Union Allied, John Healy, and Armund Tully._ Someone who didn’t believe in coincidences could easily see this as evidence of Nelson & Murdock being closely connected to Fisk. “Actually, I can see why he thinks that,” Matt said slowly.

“Like _what?_ ” Karen asked, more sharply than she’d intended.

Matt cocked his head. “Thinking like a defense attorney’s my job.”

“What, you’re saying you agree with Agent Nadeem?!” Karen asked, sharply.

Matt shook his head. “No,” he said, “But think about it, Karen. We have enough connections between Nelson & Murdock and Fisk that you’d have to be blind--metaphorically!-- to not notice. Our first three cases were all Fisk connected. First there was yours--with Union Allied, and that turned out to have been a frame job ordered by Fisk. And then he had Wesley come by the office; hire us to defend John Healy for reasons I still don’t know. And...then there was the whole case with Mrs. Cardenas’ tenements, which Fisk was acquiring for the Hand.”

There was a moment of silence as Karen processed what Matt was saying. “He asked me about the Healy case,” she said, “Showed me the check that Wesley gave us that morning. The one I dropped off at the bank after I met with the lawyers from Union Allied? Asked if we knew Confed Global was one of Fisk’s front companies.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him the truth,” Karen replied, “We didn’t know at the time who Wesley was or who his employer was. We didn’t even hear of Confed Global until Wesley had dropped that name. And you said it, Matt, you didn’t even know Fisk’s name until you beat it out of Healy after his trial!” She was getting angry again.

“Don’t remind me,” Matt said.

“Even worse, Nadeem seems to believe there’s some sort of connection between the Healy case and Wesley’s death,” she said, “Like, oh, I dunno, he thinks, maybe we’re behind it!”

“You didn’t tell him the truth about that?” Matt asked, anxiously. It took a lot of nerve for Karen to willingly admit Wesley's death to him, he couldn't see her telling that to a stranger, especially an FBI agent who had blinders on.

“No I didn’t!” Karen answered, “And I still have a hard time wrapping my head around how Nadeem could conclude our defense of one fucking hitman is proof of us working for Fisk. You and Foggy.”

Matt could see where someone like Nadeem could be led astray by Fisk in that field, too. He remembered that he had been one to exercise caution when Wesley passed his check to them, while Foggy had been more than eager to accept the money. Not that he could blame Foggy. Foggy had had a point when they were first touring the office with the realtor that they needed paying clients in order to cover their rent and utilities, and Matt’s desire to only help out the truly innocent wouldn’t be enough.  Little could they know that three years later, such insignificant decisions could come back to bite them.

“Remember how after Wesley’s meeting, I hightailed it out of the office?” Matt suddenly asked.

“Yeah, I kinda do,” Karen said. She’d been busy gathering her things to go visit the Union Allied lawyers, but she remembered being confused by Matt’s abrupt departure from the office and Foggy’s exasperation at his non-answers for where he was going.

“Well I followed Wesley,” he explained, “There were three SUVs waiting a few blocks up the street. They were waiting there the whole time.”

“Was Fisk there?” Karen asked, sounding intrigued.

“Wesley got into one of the SUVs and I heard him say to another man in the car, ‘ _It’s been taken care of.’_ I think the other man was Fisk. But uh, they shut the door and drove off before I could hear the rest of the exchange.”

Karen scratched her chin. “So...hypothetically speaking, Wesley told Fisk that Foggy was more willing than you to accept their check?”

“Makes sense,” Matt shrugged, “If Fisk wanted to use us again for any more work, he’d want to know which of us would be easier to sway.” It struck him that perhaps that would’ve included research into Matt, Karen and Foggy’s backgrounds. “…Speaking of Wesley, did he say anything about your past when he kidnapped you?”

Karen shook her head. “No, he didn’t,” she said, “He had no idea about what I’d done in Fagan Corners." She smirked, just a little. "If he knew, he probably wouldn’t have left the gun within reach of me.”

 _Good point._ “So clearly Fisk has only been looking into you recently,” Matt posited, “You said Felix had a copy of the newspaper from your hometown, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “What are you getting at?”

“I think you might make some calls to your friends, family up there, to see if anyone’s been asking about you,” Matt said, cautiously. If Fisk was smart, he probably had already sent some people up to Fagan Corners to make inquiries. And if he was being very malicious, he probably also took steps to eliminate the trails leading this information to him and Felix.

"Many of them stopped talking to me after Kevin died," Karen said. Matt lifted an eyebrow. "I bet they'll be pleased to rub his death in my face again..." Karen grabbed her phone from her purse and dialed her dad’s number. Despite the fact they didn’t talk all that often, she still had saved him in her contacts list on the off-chance she ever did decide one day to come back to Fagan Corners.

“Hello?” her dad’s voice picked up. Karen took a deep breath.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. “It's me.”

“Karen?” Paxton sounded surprised that his daughter was calling. “Good Lord.”

“How are you doing, Dad?” Karen asked.

“How do you think, Karen?”

She swallowed, suppressing the urge to cry. “I just want to talk to you.”

“I heard you’ve gone into journalism,” he said. Karen’s spirits lifted a bit knowing that her dad was still keeping a tab on her.

“Yeah,” Karen replied, trying to sound casual, “Yeah, the job’s great. It keeps me on my feet all the time. I think Kevin would be proud of what I’m achieving.”

There was no response from Paxton. _13 years, and Kevin is still a sore subject with him._

“That’s why I’m calling, actually,” Karen continued, “Have you received any unusual visitors recently? Maybe…reporters or private investigators or police officers…anyone asking around about Kevin? About the car accident?”

Paxton sighed. After a lengthy silence, he said, “...funny that you should mention it. Um...as a matter of fact, yes. There was a guy here a month ago asking about you,” he said, “Claimed he was a reporter from the _Star_.”

“What did he talk to you about?” Karen asked.

“He claimed he was investigating the death of your old loser boyfriend Todd,” Paxton said.

 _My drug-dealing ex-boyfriend. And he’s dead?_ “Sorry, Todd is _dead_?!” Karen was alarmed. She hated Todd, hated that she had to shoot him, but she never wanted him to die. And a little nerve was telling her she knew exactly who was responsible.

“Yeah, he was found dead in his house back in January,” he said. “I didn’t like him, what you did with him, but no one deserved to go like he did.”

Karen paused. _Fisk must have had him killed after he gave up all the vital information about what I did with him._ “How did he die? I’m curious.”

“The police said he was tortured,” Paxton said, “Tortured and shot. And his place was ransacked.”

 _Damn it._ “My god, that’s awful,” she whispered, horrified. Todd had been killed by Fisk’s men. There were four people who’d known the truth about what really happened in the quarry that night, and on that road a few miles away: Karen, Paxton, Todd, and Bernie, the Sheriff. “Is Bernie investigating it?” she asked.

“Bernie’s dead,” Paxton answered. “His deputy from 15 years ago, Solverson, is the Sheriff now, and he’s looking into it.”

 _Shit. Fisk got to him too._ “What happened to Bernie?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Gas explosion at his house right before Christmas,” Paxton said, “He, his wife and kids were all caught up in it.”

 _What a good coverup,_ Karen thought, grimly. “That’s awful,” she said, keeping a poker face, “I know, he was a real pain in the ass, but…he was a good friend.” she exhaled. _I think I’ve got everything I need._ “…I gotta get going. It was nice talking to you, Dad. Bye.”

She hung up and turned to Matt. He could sense the haunted expression on her face.

“Fisk killed two of the other three people who knew the truth about that night,” she whispered, “The Sheriff, and Todd.” _One for being my boyfriend, and the other just for lying on a report as a favor for my dad._

“He’s cleaning house,” Matt said, sadly.

"He left my dad alive, though," Karen said. "I don't know why."

“Well, I’m sure Fisk decided to leave your dad alone because if he died under any circumstances, you'd look into it." It wasn’t the most comforting thing to say. “He knows too much."

Karen was disgusted at how far Fisk was willing to go, sending henchmen several hours up to Vermont to gather intelligence and kill witnesses. “Bernie was a good man,” she sniffed, “I mean, I hated having to be at the diner at six o’clock sharp every morning to serve him his breakfast every morning. But…” she fought back the tears. “…he saw that the family didn’t deserve to have more heartbreak by having me in jail, right after losing Mom and Kevin.” She took a big breath.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, squeezing a hand,  “I know it’s tough. But we’ll get Fisk for them.”

Karen took a deep breath. _The only reason Dad’s alive is because Fisk knows that his death would look suspicious after having Bernie and Todd killed._ She decided to go back to the earlier subject, and Foggy being scrutinized by the FBI. She remembered the _Bulletin_ article. “I suppose it makes sense why Fisk would send the FBI after Foggy instead of you,” she said, changing the topic. “He was on the front page this morning.”

Matt made a face. “Foggy?”

“Yeah,” Karen said, “If Fisk can circumvent the FBI communication block, he can get newspapers delivered straight to him. He’s likely seen the article himself.”

“What does it say?” Matt asked.

Karen scrolled through the _Bulletin_ app on her phone to the article about Foggy’s campaign. "You want my phone's text-to-speech reader to read it or do you want me to?"

"You do it," Matt said. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I like the sound of your voice."

Karen blushed and couldn't help but try to smile. "Well..."

* * *

 

**NELSON TO CITY: INDICT FISK**

New Player Enters District Attorney Race Amidst Scandal

**By Glorianna O’Breen and Simon LaGrange**

**NEW YORK, NY:** As the city of New York reels in outrage from the unprecedented release of accused mob boss Wilson Fisk, numerous people have been left scratching their heads in disbelief, and with lots of questions.

But some parties have opted not to sit idly by. The District Attorney’s electoral race received an unexpected shakeup on Wednesday as Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, an attorney from Hell’s Kitchen, announced that he is running for District Attorney as a write-in candidate.

Nelson, well known for his passionate defense of Frank Castle AKA “the Punisher” in 2015, as well as his exoneration of Harlem’s hero Luke Cage, pledged that if elected, he will put Fisk in “into the deepest prison hole allowable under the Eighth Amendment.” Nelson shared the insights behind his campaign in an exclusive interview with the _Bulletin_.

Bulletin: You’ve had extensive experience dealing with criminal law and civil law. What made you decide to enter the political race?

Nelson: Outrage. My family has roots in Hell’s Kitchen, and my former law practice was based there as well. We had a front row seat while Wilson Fisk was running one of the most powerful criminal syndicates out there. Matt Murdock and I, we ended up getting involved in several different cases, both civil and criminal, that had ties to Mr. Fisk and his syndicate.

Bulletin: And you and Murdock, you were the ones who ultimately took down Fisk?

Nelson: That’s true. My girlfriend, Marci Stahl, she was working at a law firm that handled a lot of Fisk’s business and were opposing us in a civil suit. I persuaded her to turn over work product that proved significant towards helping the US Attorney’s office build the case against Fisk.

Bulletin _:_ How did you become acquainted with Carl Hoffman?

Nelson: I’m not at liberty to say how. That’s privileged information. All I can say is that Hoffman wanted protection, as Fisk had threatened him into killing his partner and he was afraid he would be killed too. So Matt and I, we worked out a deal with the Feds wherein Hoffman gave up everything he knew about Fisk’s operation.

Bulletin: The same FBI who are protecting Fisk in the Presidential Hotel?

Nelson: Wilson Fisk doesn’t belong on the streets at all. He may be superficially intelligent and claim he has the best interests of our city at heart, but he’s not. He has no real interest in helping out his community, just lining his own pockets.

Bulletin: What is your plan for the office of District Attorney on the off-chance that you end up defeating Blake Tower?

Nelson: First of all, Tower doesn’t deserve to keep his post as District Attorney if he refuses to indict Fisk at the state level. He’s too afraid to jeopardize his own standing in this election. But I’m not. Which is why I’ve decided to throw in my hat, to ensure that Hell’s Kitchen knows I won’t let Fisk terrorize them a second time. As for if I win, I will personally ensure that Fisk does get tried, convicted, and given the maximum sentence allowed by the state of New York.

Bulletin _:_ You’re a very late entry to the field. Finding people who support your cause will be very difficult. Do you think that will be a challenge?

Nelson: No, not at all. I know lots of people in Hell’s Kitchen who were impacted by Wilson Fisk in some form or another. People who had their lives uprooted by his destruction of slum tenements. People who lost loved ones when he blew up half of the neighborhood. And I cannot imagine that anyone in the NYPD is happy with these developments, not after several of their officers were victim to this criminal, especially when it came to light how many of them received bribes from him. Which is why, among other supporters, I am seeking the support of our police department’s illustrious union, as well as our district councilman and other politicians…

* * *

“There’s a lot of less important fluff on here,” Karen skimmed the remaining contents of the article, “Brief biography, his educational background, your internship at Landman & Zack, family members, yadda yadda yadda, that kind of stuff.”

“I told Foggy it was a mistake to do this,” Matt muttered, “Making yourself high profile is just not the right thing to do against someone like Fisk." He sighed. _Especially now that Fisk knows I'm Daredevil._ He had to admire the double-edged nature of Fisk's move here. He was trying to derail Foggy's campaign, and hope that the FBI ended up learning about Matt's ties to Daredevil in doing so. "And since Fisk also knows my secret, that gives him something to blackmail Foggy with." He rubbed his face and yawned. "We have to find a way to get him and Marci out of this.”

“Fisk has checkmated us, Matt,” Karen said, "You've been found out, and Foggy can't really campaign if he's got an FBI investigation over his head."

It occurred to Matt that there was one possible solution to get the FBI to realize Foggy was an innocent. They needed Jasper Evans, now more than ever. He could prove Fisk was manipulating the FBI, depending on how many details he was privy to. “We need Jasper Evans,” he declared. “I’ve been looking at Brett’s file all morning to see if there’s anything that can say where he’s located.”

Karen grabbed the non-braille copy of the file Brett had brought over before she headed off to Red Lion.

“Jasper Evans,” Karen read through the file, “He was locked up in 1991 on a double homicide.”

“Pretty much,” Matt said, “It seems he walked into a convenience store, got talked to the wrong way, he pulled a gun and shot an honest cashier and a sweet old granny picking up her Sunday Powerball ticket.”

“Holy shit,” Karen muttered.

“Yeah. This guy’s supposed to be serving a year in the hole for shanking Wilson Fisk. He’s not supposed to be out of prison already,” Matt said. “We put him on record with the _Bulletin_ , that will convince Nadeem that Fisk is playing the FBI.”

“Except other members of the FBI have to be in Fisk’s pocket,” Karen pointed out, “And corruption is pretty rampant in those prisons. Matt, even if we run the story about Evans, how are we to know they’ll send Fisk back to prison?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Matt shrugged, “His last known address is just a few blocks from here.”

Karen seemed to notice Matt wasn’t in that much of a hurry to go grab their witness. “So let’s go grab him then!”

Matt shook his head. “No, Karen, it doesn’t work like that,” he said, “Fisk probably has people guarding him. We’re sticking to the original plan. Destabilize the Fisk-Carbone alliance so that he won’t be keeping an eye on Evans. We get Evans, put him on record, the allegations against Fisk clear Foggy.”

Karen sighed. “You think it’ll work?”

“I’m counting on it,” Matt replied.

Karen shuddered. Matt sounded an awful lot like Fisk when he said that.

"...So where do we start?" she asked.

"Harlem," he answered.

 _Harlem? Why not check in with Foggy?_ "Shouldn't you...touch base with Foggy?" Karen asked, staring at him.

"After we gather some more information," Matt said, brushing her off as he grabbed his coat and scarf from the coat rack.

"Well at least tell him we're doing something to steer the FBI away from him!" she insisted. "That way he doesn't think you're abandoning him!"

Matt shook his head stubbornly. “What do you want me to tell him?” he asked. "That Fisk is coming after us due to a visit I made to him while Foggy was in a hospital bed? I can't."

“Yes, you should,” Karen answered. “You’re going to have to tell him something. Anything! He's probably scared shitless about being under scrutiny."

Matt looked torn, and still stubborn. Karen suddenly felt weary of the whole mess.

"This afternoon, then," he conceded, reluctantly, after about a solid minute of silence. "We'll swing by the shop this afternoon. Once we get more intel on Fisk's protection racket."

“Okay, good.” Karen puffed out a breath, wishing she felt better. Wishing that she wasn't freaking out about the possibility of Fisk divulging her secrets and getting her fired. Of Fisk using Matt's secrets to ruin him. Or Fisk getting Foggy and Matt disbarred.

"What's the best way to the 29th Precinct?" Matt asked.

* * *

 The 29th Precinct of the New York City Police Department was located in East Harlem, at 119th Street and Park Avenue. The precinct building itself was halfway between Park and Lexington, but the facility itself also included a large motor pool lot that occupied the entire west half of the block. It was a facility Matt and Karen were all too familiar with, and one that both were anxious about setting foot in again. For Matt, it was because this was where he had first met Jessica and gotten involved in the Hand case. For Karen and for Foggy, it was where they had to learn that Matt had been presumed killed under a falling building. Karen could not forget that night, staring at the open doorway after Jessica, Luke and Danny returned, waiting for Matt. Collapsing into Foggy’s arms when she realized Matt wasn’t coming back. That he was gone. And she wouldn’t get a chance to be forward with him about Wesley or about her brother. But that was three months ago. Now Matt was back, and they had a mission to conduct.

From their apartment, Matt and Karen traveled uptown by taking the N train to Lexington Avenue-59th Street, like they would if traveling to Karen’s office at the _Bulletin_. But rather than exit, they transferred to an uptown 4 train which they took up to 125 th Street. Technically, there’d be less walking involved if they changed to the 6 local at 86th Street and rode that to 116th Street, but Karen preferred to get the extra steps in, and the opportunity for more intimate walking with Matt. Plus really, six blocks or three, it didn’t really make a difference to Matt or Karen.

"Hi," Karen said nervously, catching the attention of the desk sergeant, a blond officer who looked to be about Foggy's age. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place from where. "We’re here to see Detective Knight."

The sergeant craned his neck to look at the clock. "She’s on the street, but she should be back in twenty minutes or so. If you'd like to wait, I can let her know you're here when she gets back. What's your names?" he asked, grabbing a pen and shuffling some papers around until he found his notepad.

Matt paused for a second before answering. "Matt Murdock, attorney at law."

“Karen Page from the _New York Bulletin_ ,” Karen said.

He poised the pen over the paper and narrowed his eyes at her. “You again?”

Karen nodded. “I see my reputation precedes me,” she snarked.

“You're that reporter from the _Bulletin_ who was here with them superpowered people and their friends during that fracas following the earthquake, right?"

Karen faltered slightly as she responded. "Yeah."

"You're also probably the only one who ever has anything nice to say about my father," he added. This prompted Karen to glance down at sergeant’s nametag. _Reagan_ , she noted. _Must be one of the Commissioner's kids._

"Oh, well, PC's trying to do a good job," Karen rolled her shoulders. "Can't imagine he's too happy with Fisk being back on the streets."

"You kiddin' me?" Sgt. Reagan asked, pointedly. "Everyone in the department is pissed, Miss Page. Fisk killed four of our own, and injured maybe a dozen more. And now the FBI's got him in that hotel treating him like he's visiting royalty and not a hardened criminal."

Karen wrote something down in her notepad.

"Yeah, I bet he wishes Fisk were still locked up in that prison where he rightfully belongs," Matt nodded.

"Has he discussed his opinions about this with you recently?" Karen asked. _I might want to consider an interview with the Commissioner. I doubt Reagan's in the loop regarding that task force Brett is on, but a few words of him endorsing Foggy, and condemning Fisk might go a long way towards keeping the press from taking Fisk's side._

"You'll have to talk to him for that," Sgt. Reagan replied. "And I doubt you came to interview me, since you two said you were here to see Detective Knight."

“Yeeeah, we’re here to give witness statements regarding yesterday’s shooting at the A-Train diner,” Matt said, “Knight said she wanted us to come back in for a follow-up interview.” It was a lie, but since Matt and Karen had been the last to talk to Silvio before the shooting, it would seem reasonable to assume they’d be called back in for questioning in a few days anyways.

Sgt. Reagan wrote down something in his notepad.  

"You can wait for her at her desk, if you want. Official policy is that no civilians are allowed back there without escorts, but…you’ve both been here before, so you know that no one follows that policy.” He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Oh," Karen said, caught slightly off guard. "Um, thank you."

Sgt. Reagan gave Matt and Karen another glance as they made their way into the precinct halls. Matt allowed Karen to steer him by the elbow, to maintain appearances, as they made their way to the room where Misty’s desk was located.  Matt and Karen decided to sit at Misty’s desk, and listen in on all the chatter going on throughout the precinct.

The space was unchanged in the past few months since Karen had been here. Karen remembered hanging out with Foggy, Trish and Malcolm in this space, listening to the police band for updates on what Matt and the others were doing at Midland Circle. The only real difference to the space was what occupied the corkboard behind Misty’s desk. Last time, it had been plastered with photos of various crimes connected to the Hand, including the hostage situation Karen had been a part of, as well as the John Raymond case that had pulled Matt in.   This time, it was now full of crime scene photos from the A-Train Diner shooting. There were photographs of the three assailants Matt had fought inside the diner on one side of the board. In the middle were photos of Silvio’s body as well as some baggies containing bullets and guns recovered from the scene. On the right were photos of a charred car that Karen surmised to be from the drive-by shooters. _Clearly to make it harder to trace._

While they waited, Karen stared the board and zoned out, letting her brain relive the events of the past 24 hours. She was so deep in her thoughts that it took her a few minutes to notice photographs of herself and Matt were included on the board, categorized as “WITNESSES”. It was scrawled on a small sheet of paper that was sticking out of a folder. She blinked, then glanced around quickly. The few other cops that were in the room were preoccupied with dropping off paperwork, and the detectives at the adjoining desk pair on the other side of the room were idly studying evidence from a case. She decided to walk over and check out the file folders pinned to the wall under the mugshots of the assailants. There wasn’t much new information for her to glean from the folders, other than that they had rap sheets and a few of them had had periods of employment with various shell companies that Fisk owned.

As she and Matt stood there, Karen turned back towards the doorway into the room. Her gaze fell upon the television mounted to the wall above the door, tuned to the local news. Foggy was on WJBP, and currently being interviewed by Thembi Wallace alongside Blake Tower. For someone who was being targeted by the FBI, Foggy seemed remarkably composed. Then again, Karen always knew Foggy as one to maintain his dignity even when under pressure. She’d seen how he quickly improvised the opening statements at Frank’s trial when Matt overslept. But even that was an apples to oranges comparison at best. Foggy had to be terrified out of his mind about the FBI looking into him, especially when the Healy case could be used as proof of a connection between him and Fisk. He had to be even more terrified about the possibility of Matt and/or Karen being investigated too. Foggy was more versed than Karen in the potential legal consequences that would ensue if the Bar Association ever learned what Matt was doing in his off hours.

"You alright, Karen?" Matt asked. Karen saw the look of concern in his face. The TV was muted, so he couldn’t tell what was on. They didn’t have descriptive audio either.

"Yes," she said. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, uh…Foggy’s debating Blake Tower on Thembi Wallace," she told him.

“He look all right?”

“I think he’s trying to put on a brave face,” she speculated, “I don’t think the FBI has talked to him yet.”

“He shouldn’t talk to them without a lawyer,” Matt said. _Not that I doubt Foggy could handle himself..._ "I mean, sure Foggy's a good public speaker and all, but...this is just one situation where he shouldn't be trying to defend himself."

“He’s got Marci,” Karen pointed out. "And I'm sure Hogarth is also coming to her junior associate's defense."

“They’re probably looking into Marci as well,” he replied, “I mean, she worked at Landman & Zack, and that document exchange she did to help us find Hoffman wasn’t exactly legal. I’m sure Fisk is painting it as if Foggy seduced her.” He scoffed, bitterly. Marci was a tough cookie, no doubt, but her home turf was primarily in civil law, not criminal law.

“Well I’m gonna call Marci,” Karen discreetly pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed Marci. She figured Foggy's girlfriend would be a good intermediary. Marci picked up on the third ring.

"Hello Karebear," Marci said as she picked up. "You know, I was just thinking about you. Why aren't you covering Foggy Bear's campaign? You're closer to him than that reporter your boss had interview us."

"Conflict of interest," Karen said, "Listen, Marci, can you get in touch with Foggy for me?"

"You want me to contact Foggy Bear?" Marci asked, confused. "Uh, you're his former office manager. Don't you have his cell number?"

"Fisk is targeting Matt and Foggy, Marci," Karen whispered, "He's going after them, using the FBI."

Karen could imagine Marci's cheeks turning a dark red. "HE FUCKING _WHAT_?!" she practically screamed, loud enough that Karen had to jerk the phone away from her ear.

"Yeah," Karen sighed, "The FBI, they're in your apartment. And that Ray Nadeem, he's asking questions. Somehow Fisk led him to think Matt and Foggy are dirty lawyers, and..." she took a deep breath. "...there's no easy way to say this, but he's probably going to come by to talk to you."

"Goddamnit," Marci muttered.  She took a deep breath. "Tell me you're doing something about this."

"Matt and I currently working on a strategy," Karen explained. She decided in that moment it would be better to discuss the strategy with Marci face to face rather than do it over the phone. "Are you free for lunch?"

There was a brief pause. "Uh, sure," Marci said, "I got a clear schedule the rest of the day."

"Great," Karen said. _I've got a craving for pizza tonight._ She recalled a nice pizzeria on 43rd by the Paramount Theatre that she'd heard from a colleague was really good. "Does Bella Vita suit your fancy?"

"That pizzeria in the Theatre District?" Marci asked.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Sure!" Marci responded. "Assuming the FBI don't get to me first."

"What time works for you?"

"One o'clock," she answered, "If that's okay with you?"

"It works for Matt and me," Karen said. "We'll see you then."

"You too, Karebear." Marci abruptly hung up without so much as saying goodbye.

 _Hopefully I gave Marci enough heads-up for the FBI's arrival._ Karen put her phone back in her purse, just as Matt heard Detective Knight entering the precinct down the hall. Her metallic right arm left her with a noticeable swagger.

_“There’s a Matt Murdock and a Karen Page waiting at your desk.”_

_“The witnesses from yesterday’s fireworks at the A-Train?”_

_“The same.”_

Matt joined Karen by the board just as Misty entered the room where her desk was located.

“Mr. Murdock, Miss Page,” Misty said as she walked over to them. “This is unexpected.”

“The uh, desk sergeant allowed us to come back here,” Matt smiled, sheepishly.

“You know, you’re not supposed to be back here without an escort,” she said, putting her metallic right arm on her hip.

“No one follows that rule here,” Matt smirked, “I know you let Luke break it all the time.”

“I apologize if I kept you waiting. There was a triple shooting last night at a parking garage over in Spanish Harlem,” Misty said, “Someone’s making a move on the Boriucas and got three of them.”

“Sounds awful,” Karen murmured. “Any leads?”

“Bailey’s awaiting an ID,” Misty said. Karen allowed the detective to sit down at her desk while herself moving to sit on one of the desk corners. “So what can I do for you?”

“Have the shooters from the diner been found? The drive-by ones?” Matt asked. Sure, they were here to talk about Sal Carbone, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask if the drive-by shooters had been found, or if the three men who’d entered the diner had cracked under interrogation by the NYPD, especially since they were talking to one of the detectives involved in the case.

“Nada,” Misty shook her head and made a gesture across her throat. “Traffic cam picked up a red Corolla fleeing the scene right after the shots were fired. We found it torched in a junkyard over in Hunts Point. Registered as stolen.”

“And Munoz, Williamson and Brown?” Matt inquired.

“They’ve lawyered up,” Misty answered, “Mariah’s old family lawyer is repping them and he’s too damn slick.”

“I know,” Matt said. “I’ve had some very personal experiences with Benjamin Donovan.” _He stood outside and had no reaction when Fisk was beating the shit out of me in the visitors’ room at Rikers_.

“So you know what it’s like for me every day.”

“Pretty much,” Matt shrugged. “Brett can tell you, though, I’m one of the better lawyers for cops to have to deal with.”

“We were here because we thought you might have information about a homicide from a few years ago,” Karen said, “Julius Carbone.”

“Julius Carbone?” Misty made a face. “Rosalie Carbone's father?”

“That’s the one,” Matt responded.

“I thought you were pursuing Wilson Fisk,” Misty said, “Not some mafioso who fell onto the tracks and got struck by a train.”

“Yeah, we know,” Karen said, “But there’s more to it.”

Matt decided that they needed to be a little more direct with Misty and explain to her the seriousness of the situation.

“Fisk is running a protection racket,” Matt explained, “He made a deal with Rosalie last night to grant her access to Hell’s Kitchen in exchange for a small cut of her profits.”

“And you know this how?” Misty asked.

“I observed it,” Matt said, bluntly. “Through means I’m not going to discuss while we’re in public.”

Misty took a moment to process this new information. “If that’s case, what do you think looking into Carbone’s father’s death is going to accomplish?”

“We think we can persuade her to break off her agreement with Fisk,” Karen said, “One less partner means one less person putting money in Fisk’s pocket.”

Misty looked at them like they were crazy.

“Have you considered reaching out to Luke?” she asked.

Matt shook his head. “No. Why?”

“He’s been meddling in Carbone’s affairs ever since Mariah was put away,” she said, “He might even have some useful insight on what she does.”

Karen spoke up. "We’d just like to have the actual file on Julius Carbone’s death. Ben Urich had a lot of stuff on it in his files, but no official police report.”

“You know, I’m not supposed to be disclosing official police files to civilians,” she pointed out.

"As long as Fisk is on the streets, people are going to get hurt," Matt said, his voice carefully light and amiable, “Karen and I, we can stop him. And besides, Detective, you aid and abet Luke. Surely you can throw a bone or two to Daredevil, right?”

Misty sighed and took a deep breath. “Why don’t we take this into a more private room?”

* * *

 Misty led Matt and Karen down the hall to her Inspector’s office. Matt could make out the office’s familiar layout as he entered. It was where he’d been laid up after Elektra had knocked him out. Foggy and Karen had pushed for him to be granted a private room to change shirts without any cops asking questions about the scars on his chest.

 "The Carbone brothers, Julius and Salvatore, were true players back in the day,” she answered.

“Old school, huh?” Karen asked.

"Well, their father Francisco, started running booze during Prohibition, ended up building a big bootlegging and gun-running empire," Misty explained, "1963, Francisco is taken out by the Karnellis for reneging on a gun deal. And that's when the older son Julius takes over. It's like, the good news is the first World War over. Bad news is, say hello to Mussolini."

"That's a harsh comparison."

"Julius had his hands in women, smack, guns, and real estate. Took over large portions of the neighborhood through brute force and terror.”

“Huh,” Karen clicked her pen as she wrote stuff down in her notepad. “What was he like as the head of organized crime in Italian Harlem?”

“Very violent,” Misty answered. "He subjugated gangs that tried to move in, and those didn't agree to his terms often were forced into very twisted ultimatums."

“What do you mean?” Matt asked.

“Has your girlfriend told you anything about the recent Stokes-Stylers war that happened during your...absentia, Mr. Murdock?” she asked.

“Vaguely,” Matt said.

“Well it’s a long story, and it’s full of gruesome shit, but…fact of the matter is it was caused by events that took place in the 1970s,” she said. 

“I got time,” Matt said. 

“Early in his career, Julius tried to push the Stokes and McIver outfit out of Harlem’s Paradise,” Misty explained, “Gave them this offer they couldn’t refuse. The Stokes’ were resilient and their leader, Buggy Stokes, he killed his own partner, a guy named Quincy McIver. McIver’s son came through town a few months ago and went to war with Mariah over it.” 

“I can be spared the details of that," Matt waved dismissively, "Tell me about Salvatore. How did he get arrested?”

“He was arrested back in the mid-90s around that time the FBI handed down some massive indictments against all the big families,” she said, “Julius drew a seventeen year sentence in Dannemora. Only got out in May 2012.” 

“May 2012?” Karen asked. “So he died just five months after getting out?”

“It would seem so,” Misty answered. 

“And you were the lead detective on the case, is that right?” Karen flipped through her notes. “My late colleague Ben Urich had an interview with you.” 

Misty took a deep breath.  “On October 23rd, 2012, my partner and I, Detective Scarfe…” she soured at saying her late partner’s name. “…were called to an incident at the 125th Street station on Lenox Avenue. A man got hit by a 3 train, which vivisected him in half. The victim’s name was Julius Carbone.” Karen shot a glance at Matt, before turning back to Misty.

“What did you conclude happened on that platform?” 

“Scarfe and I came to the conclusion that Carbone, with his deteriorating eyesight, was unable to see the edge of the platform and slipped just as the train was pulling in. This was corroborated by the motorman and the three witnesses on the platform who saw the whole thing.” 

Matt glanced in Karen’s direction. _Let’s find out who these witnesses are, and whether they lied or not._ “Who were the witnesses?” he asked.

Misty took a moment to formulate a response. “Is that important?”

  
“It wouldn’t hurt to know,” Matt winced at how lame that answer sounded. 

“One of them, a laborer named John Healy, said that he saw Carbone just fall off the side just like that. And the others, a pair of construction workers by the names of Stewart Schmidt and Joseph Pike, they claimed they tried to signal to the train operator to stop, but it was too late.” 

Matt felt his heartrate go up, as did Karen’s. They already knew who Healy really had been, an assassin on Fisk’s payroll. And Karen recognized the other two names; those were the two contractors of Tully’s that had tried to attack her that one night outsides Mrs. Cardenas’s tenement building. She remembered how close they’d come to hurting her. How bad things could have been if not for Foggy showing up with his softball bat and beating Schmidt unconscious, giving her an opportunity to pepper spray Pike. Pike and Schmidt disappeared shortly after that, and Karen was unsure whether they had gone ghost or—as was more likely the case--Fisk had them quietly murdered. 

“You didn’t consider anything suspicious about the witnesses?” Karen asked, putting on a poker face.  

“We had no reason to,” Misty answered, “And with the stuff Carbone had done to get himself locked up, and no evidence of foul play, our lieutenant considered the case closed with no further inquiries.” 

“I see,” Karen said, writing down info in her notepad. 

“Why are you asking about this like it was a murder?” Misty asked.

 Matt bit his lip. “John Healy was an assassin working for Wilson Fisk. He actually had his guy, James Wesley, hire me and Foggy to defend him after he…crushed a guy’s head with a bowling ball a few years ago.” 

“Those other two ‘witnesses’, Schmidt and Pike, they were contractors for Westmeyer Holt, one of Fisk’s companies,” Karen chipped in, “He was using them to strongarm people out of rent-controlled tenements in Hell’s Kitchen.” Misty said nothing, leaning back in her chair. _Another tainted case from Scarfe..._ she was probably thinking.

“Tell me more about Wilson Fisk,” she said.

Karen was momentarily caught off guard. “What, you’re questioning us now?”

“Contrary to what you believe, us folk up in Harlem don’t communicate all that much with the colleagues down in Hell’s Kitchen,” Misty commented. “What I know about Fisk is limited to what they say on the news. If Fisk is moving into my territory, I’d like to know.”

“You went down to Midland Circle to help me, Jessica, Luke and Danny,” Matt countered, “And that’s in Hell’s Kitchen. Surely you could just go talk to Brett Mahoney down at the 15th?”

“Special circumstances.” Misty tapped her robotic right arm.

Matt sighed. “Well, Midland Circle was only possible thanks to the Hand’s connections with Fisk. As were a lot of other things…”

Matt and Karen gave Misty a rundown about the things about Fisk that were public knowledge, such as how he bought up real estate all over Hell’s Kitchen after the Incident and skimmed on reconstruction bids, how the better majority of his associates got killed to plug loose ends, Nelson & Murdock’s involvement in the Union Allied scandal and the tenancy case. Since Misty was aware of the truth about Matt’s alternate identity, Matt also divulged to her the inside track on how the Russians had abducted Claire once as a trap for Matt, how Fisk pinned Anatoly’s death on Matt, how Fisk had pitted Matt against Nobu, what Matt and Karen suspected Fisk had done to get himself out of prison, Felix’s meeting with Rosalie Carbone…

“I know I said this to you guys yesterday, but you really could use some outside help,” Misty offered at the conclusion of their summary, “let other people like you go after Fisk.”

“This isn't their fight,” Karen said, coldly. “And seeing as right now, Fisk is targeting someone close to us, we’re going to keep it that way.” 

“I understand, but you know, having allies doesn’t hurt,” Misty reminded her. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Karen glanced at Matt. She checked her watch. _We have time._ So long as she and Matt were here talking to Misty, they might get the rundown on the gangs in Harlem to see if Fisk had made deals with any of them. 

They never got to achieve that, as that was when there was a knock at the door. In came another detective, a young guy in his late thirties with short brown hair. He was carrying a manila file folder in his hand. 

“Misty, you’re not gonna believe this,” he said, handing the folder to Misty, “One of the shooting victims from the garage. It’s Anibal Izqueda.”   

 _Anibal Izqueda._ Matt swallowed a lump of bile as he recognized that name. Rosalie had mentioned him during the meeting with Felix last night, and while Matt was interrogating her on the street after Felix and his guys left Midland Circle.

“Thanks, Bailey,” she said, accepting the file.

The new detective remained there lingering, fixated on Karen. “Hey, you’re that reporter who was here with Luke’s friends a few months back, right?” 

“…Uh, yeah,” Karen said, “Karen Page from the _Bulletin_.” 

“I read your articles all the time,” he said, “You give us a much better shake than the _Times_ or the _Bugle_.” 

“…Thanks,” Karen stammered.  

“Nice meetin’ you.” The detective exited the office and closed the door behind him. 

“I know that name,” Matt whispered to Karen, “Rosalie was mentioning him to Felix Manning last  night.” 

“You think…Fisk was involved in this?” she whispered. Matt bit his tongue. He didn’t need to say it out loud: Felix must have approached Izqueda with the same protection offer he’d made Rosalie, but Izqueda refused and paid the price for it.  Karen turned to Misty, and said,“Tell me more about the victim. Anibal Izqueda.” 

“Guy headed the Boriucas crew in Spanish Harlem,” Misty answered. Karen began writing in her notepad. “Puerto Rican outfit. He and Carbone and the Koreans were in a pretty bloody fight for control of central Harlem after Mariah Dillard was locked up.” 

“Uh-huh,” Karen wrote down. “What happened to him last night?"

“Izqueda was shot twice in the chest at a distance, and once in the head point-blank with a .32 caliber, according to ballistics.” She swallowed hard. Karen instinctively put a hand on Matt’s knee. “We found two of his guards with him as well, shot about a half-dozen times each, possibly with some sort of assault rifle. Time of death is believed to be around midnight last night.”

“Any possible motives?”

“I got one," Misty said, "it's that whatever Luke’s idea of peacekeeping is, it’s not working.”

“What do you mean?” Karen asked.

“Well Luke managed to force a truce between Izqueda and Carbone last month, through methods I don’t really condone,” the detective said, “Looks like someone didn’t get the message.”

“Or maybe he refused an unrefusable offer from a more powerful outsider,” Matt muttered. _We need to find someone who has an ear to the ground. I think I’m overdue to say hi to him, now that I think about it._ He turned to Karen and whispered, "There's someone I think might have information about this.” Out loud, he asked Misty, "Do you know anything about Turk Barrett, Detective?"

* * *

“Turk Barrett, huh?” Karen asked.

Matt and Karen found themselves walking through the streets of Harlem, headed towards their destination, a shop on Adam Clayton Powell between 137th and 138th Streets. 

"Don't be surprised,” Matt replied, sheepishly. “Turk knows pretty much everything about every gang in town. Fisk was one of his big customers.”

“In more ways than one, I bet,” Karen snarked.

She still very much remembered Turk Barrett. He was one of the guys that the Hand had kidnapped alongside her and all of those other people Matt had saved as Daredevil. In fact, she considered Turk to be the unintentional hero of the hour. As she’d noticed while they were being held in that warehouse, he was a parolee with an ankle bracelet, not too dissimilar to what she imagined Fisk was being forced to wear right now in the Presidential Hotel. When she’d noticed his bracelet, she’d gotten an idea. She’d deduced that this was one of those monitors that notified the police when its user tried to take it off or tamper with it. Thus, Karen convinced Turk to deactivate his bracelet, which summoned the NYPD to the scene. The first two cops to respond hadn’t been so lucky. They were quickly gunned down by snipers with arrows that Nobu had stationed on the roof, but not before one of them was able to call in a 10-13. She knew this because Matt had told her that he’d only been able to find the warehouse once Elektra told him to calm down and focus, and he’d picked up the radio communications. Things got a little dicey after that, as the woman who’d overseen the kidnapping--and who’d shot one of the other hostages for speaking up in Karen’s defense—figured out that Turk had been the one who’d called the cops. Some of the ninjas actually tried sawing his foot off trying to get the tracker removed, but Matt had shown up in time before they could succeed.

It was a few days later, when Matt had disclosed his secret to Karen, that she got to learn the full scoop on Turk the accidental hero. It turned out, he was a midlevel arms dealer who sold guns to various local gangs in Hell’s Kitchen. The reason he was on parole to begin with was because he’d been among those the FBI had rounded up after Detective Hoffman spilled the beans on Fisk. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much evidence to build a solid case against him, or he’d gotten a really good lawyer, so he was on parole and back on the streets in just a matter of months. Matt had credited Turk as a very useful informant, in fact, describing to Karen how the man had given him some useful information about the Punisher’s attacks when he and Foggy were tracking down leads on the Kitchen Irish massacre, and Karen herself had been busy guarding Grotto at Metro-General. Even before that, he’d evidently given Matt a lead on the man that Fisk was using to tailor his custom suits.

Now, shortly before noon, Matt and Karen were headed to Turk’s new place of business, a bong shop in the middle of Harlem. While it was certainly a legitimate business, from the way Detective Knight described it, Matt and Karen both knew better than to think a weasel like Turk Barrett would just walk away from organized crime. He probably was still in the loop on what everyone else was up to; maybe he even continued to use the shop as a front for his arms dealing. He’d know why Fisk had Anibal Izqueda killed.

Since they were now out of the precinct, Matt no longer needed to rely on Karen’s elbow to guide him, so he folded up his cane and held it in his right hand, while lacing his left fingers through one of Karen’s hands.

“Mind if I, uh, ask you a personal question?” Karen abruptly asked once they were across Lenox, “How deeply was Turk involved in Fisk’s operations?”

“Well he told me about Fisk’s suits,” Matt said, “Gave me a lead on the guy who made them.”

“I’d love to meet him, actually,” Karen mused.

Matt shot her a confused look from behind his glasses. “You’ve met Turk already,” he stated, “Remember?”

Karen blushed. “I mean the guy who makes your suits, silly!” she smiled, “I’d love to meet him. He’s a real hero, and without that armor he made you, you probably would’ve died fighting Fisk in that alleyway.”

“I know…” Matt bit his lip. He’d promised Melvin that he’d keep Betsy safe. Now that Fisk was out, he really needed to get in touch with him to inquire about getting a new suit. Unfortunately, between yesterday’s prison riot and Foggy currently being scrutinized by the FBI, he had yet to get some time to go downtown to visit Melvin. Melvin had to be worried sick now that Fisk was out, and able to make good on his threats against Betsy. “…but I told you, he’s got people Fisk has leverage over. I don’t want to risk them getting hurt, especially now that Fisk knows who I am.”

Karen sighed. _He does have a point_. “I know…” she said, quietly. “Still, that suit would be a definite improvement. From a safety standpoint, at any rate.”

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows at her. “But not an improvement elsewhere?”

Karen bit her lip and looked down at her feet for a moment, calculating. With a deep breath she decided she’d take her chances. Things were going surprisingly well between them so far.

“Well, I’m glad it kept you from getting seriously hurt, but…I’d be lying if I claimed I liked the look of the red suit more than the all black… skintight spandex.”

Matt felt a flush traveling up his neck, and he opened his mouth, only to close it a moment later as he had no idea what to say in response. So he laughed instead.

 “So…Turk Barrett,” Karen changed back to their original subject, “Did he only sell guns to Fisk or did he do other shit for him as well?”

 Matt took a moment to come up with an answer. “He did some stuff with Anatoly and Vladimir as well,” he explained, “That’s how I first met him. They were running a human trafficking ring down at the docks. Fisk provided them protection.”

Karen shuddered. She remembered the stories in the newspapers vaguely. Thugs with assault rifles grabbing homeless kids off the streets. That anecdote Matt had told her about the Russians having a boy kidnapped as a trap for him.  

“Now I wish those ninja bastards actually did cut off his foot,” she snarked.

“Can’t exactly go as fast when you’re in crutches,” Matt said. He couldn’t help but smirk. “They’d call him One Foot Turk. Which sounds like a strange boxer’s name. Catchy jingle when it comes to advertising your wares.” He and Karen shared a hearty laugh.

“None of that explains what he’s doing up here in Harlem, selling weed,” he added once his laughter subsided.

“I doubt that’s his main source of revenue,” Karen agreed, “He probably still dabbles in guns on the side.”

“Probably,” Matt nodded, “Turk’s never struck me as the guy who could just walk away from a criminal lifestyle.”

“You think he’ll have the full insight on Fisk’s protection racket?” she asked.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Matt said. “I don’t know whether he’s still keeping tabs on Fisk, but never hurts to ask."

Karen’s mouth thinned. Something was off about the nature of the killing, from the photographs she’d seen of the bodies in Misty’s NYPD file. Matt couldn’t help but notice. “Something bothering you?” he asked.

“Yeeeahhh,” Karen said, slowly, “I’m just wondering why Felix would just kill Izqueda, and leave the body where it was, as opposed to, y’know, throw him in the river or anything.”

“Fisk wants to send a message for someone.”

“But why?”

“Clearly Izqueda, for whatever reason, did not agree to the offer of protection that Felix had offered to Rosalie,” Matt speculated.

“You don’t refuse an offer from Fisk,” Karen stated, plainly. “You’re in, or you’re dead.” _The way Wesley threatened me, I know Fisk never makes idle threats._

“And the best way to get that across is to leave a body in public,” Matt finished her sentence. “Backs other gangs into a corner, Karen. Where they’ll have no choice but to pay him out of desperation.”

Eventually, they arrived at the shop, a rather unassuming storefront on the east side of Adam Clayton Powell that could be identified by its green awning.

“How do you want to do this?” Karen asked. “I mean, he knows me, and he doesn’t know you, Matt. And my gut tells me we’re gonna get physical here and you don’t want to do it without a mask.”

Without saying a word, Matt took off his glasses, and put them in his inner pocket. He did the same for his cane. Then he took off his scarf and tied it around his forehead.

“Oh…” she said. _Emergency scarf._ She couldn’t help but start giggling. _Matt said something about Jessica mocking him for this, right?_ “I can’t tell whether you’re an asshole or too cheap to buy appropriate Zorro cosplay gear.”

Matt chuckled. “Have you been fraternizing with Jessica while I've been gone, Miss Page?” he teased.

Karen smiled. “Certainly not!” she slaughed. In a softer voice, she added, "Though the red scarf looks nice on you."

And with that, Matt disappeared around the corner into a nearby alleyway. Karen remained standing where she was on the sidewalk, and checked her gun to make sure it was loaded. There were a few nicks on the barrel from where she’d clubbed that creep last night, but it still looked functional.

She took several deep breaths, “getting into character” as it were, then entered the shop. It was like any other bong shop. The shelves were stacked with lots and lots of glass paraphernalia of varying shapes and sizes. Turk was at the front counter, shuffling around and muttering to himself as he examined his books. _Good job, making sure there’s no evidence of skimming or money laundering_. Turk was a very simple build, like someone easy to overlook. Leather jacket, expensive but not treated well. Shiny shoes, same deal. Loud shirt, something like a stereotype of a pimp would wear, and she’s pretty sure he picked it on purpose. Underneath the button down there’s a thin black t-shirt, and that seems more like something an information broker would wear, something dark and subtle and notice-me-not. He’s chaos by design.  Karen slinked through the store, her gun feeling heavy in her purse as she walked up to the counter.

“Turk!” Karen said, grinning. “Hi again.”

Turk was someone good with faces. He made the face of dread that one would make when they encounter the woman who nearly got their leg sawed off by Japanese ninjas.

“Aw, hell,” Turk muttered, “You again.”

“How’s the leg?” Karen asked.

“Still hurts like a son of a bitch, no thanks to you,” he shrugged.

“Hey, it was either that or about a dozen people dying,” Karen replied. "

"What are you doing up here?"

“This is a social call,” Karen lied. She glanced around the shop. “Nice place you got here. You must make more money in a week than Ellison pays me in a year.”

“Hey, I just follow the money, baby,” Turk said, “More dough from selling Mary Jane than M1911s.”

“I see,” Karen clicked her tongue, “So, uh, what can you tell me about Anibal Izqueda?”

Turk shrugged. “Babe, I dunno anyone by that name.” That was it. Next thing Turk knew, Karen had a gun pointed directly at his chest.

Simultaneously, Matt emerged from the backroom, looking like a complete asshole.

“Good to see you again, Turk,” Matt said, putting his hands on his hips, “You know, for a guy who’s gone legit, there’s an awful lot of guns you keep back there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the door through which he just entered.

“God damn!” Turk cursed, “And you brought D, too? Between you, and blondie here, and Cage, can’t you guys ever give a brother a break?”

“Not today, we can’t.” Matt shifted from one foot to the other. Karen kept her gun trained on Turk.

“I know a thing about reputations, Mr. Barrett,” Karen said, “Lifetime to build, seconds to destroy. How much street cred would you lose if I ran an article about you?” She thumbed back the hammer. “What do you know about Anibal Izqueda?”

“Jesus Christ.” Turk sounded exasperated. “I don’t know shit.”

Matt could sense Turk’s heartbeat and could tell he was lying, or at least, not being 100% open.  The quick punch Matt gave to the left side of his jaw told him that wasn’t the right response. Turk stumbled backwards into one of his shelves, knocking over some of the paraphernalia. Karen winced at the sound of it shattering, and Matt momentarily put a hand to his ear, but they pressed on.

“Christ,” Turk threw his hands up, “What was that for?

“Let me ask you again,” Karen said, taking on a more menacing tone, “What. Do you know. About. Anibal Izqueda?”

“I know him,” Turk hastily replied, rising to his feet as Matt took a step forward. “Puerto Rican lad, runs dope in Spanish Harlem. They whacked him last night. A message to the others.”

“The others?” Karen asked. _Other gangs that aren't willing to become subordinate to Fisk._

Matt’s jaw twitched and he approached Turk. “Hey, hey--”

Karen looked up from her gun, just in time to see Matt sock Turk hard in the face, then once more after he fell to his knees. She watched without blinking, feeling unusually detached from it. There was a flash of memory in the back of her head. It was like watching Todd beat Kevin, for whatever reason. Turk fumbled for a gun in an ankle holster, but Matt disarmed him of it with a sharp roundhouse kick to the chin. Turk dropped the gun, which Matt kicked aside with his foot.

“That’s a violation of your parole, being a felon in possession of a firearm,” Matt said, “We all know Fisk is behind this, that Izqueda didn’t want to pay him. Is that true?”

“I’m a dead man if he finds I talked to you two, you know that—”

“Didn’t stop you from talking when it was just me running around.”

“Yeah, well, everyone’s thought you were dead, D. I heard a building fell on your noggin, yet you’re still walking—”

“God has mercy on me,” Matt said, landing a blow at Turk’s solar plexus. He doubled over and went down. Karen felt a jolt of arousal going through her body. “You know, you’re really being a pain in the ass, Turk.”

“You don’t have to be so overboard on this, man,” Turk complained. Karen stepped around the counter and joined Matt.

“I’ve twisted your arm before, remember?” Matt asked.

“You know, if Cage were here, he wouldn’t go to town on me like this. He’d just wring me by the neck, shove me against a wall and that’d be it.”

“Newsflash asshole, Cage ain’t here,” Karen snarled, putting her free hand back on the gun.

“We had such a good working relationship before my sabbatical, Turk,” Matt said. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Even with your change of geographic location, I’d never want to lose you as a source.”

“You’re a scary pair, you know that?” Turk heaves himself up to a semi-sitting position.

“How about you start talking?” Karen said, motioning with her gun, “Before I paint the shop with your brain matter.”

“Shit,” Turk cursed, “Shit. All I know is that Fisk wants to tax other gangs in the city, make himself _capo dei capi._ I hear...even the FBI work for him. And he’s obtained the protection them Albanians used to sell. And he’s making an example of anyone who doesn’t agree to pay.”

“Really?” Matt said, “Tell us more.”

Turk didn’t say anything for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to keep his guts from coming up. Then he laughed in disbelief. “I’d give up my mama before I ever go on record with your gossip rag.” He directed that last bit at Karen.

Something uncurled in the base of Karen’s throat _._ _Who else does Turk Barrett know_ , she wondered.

“We’re gonna give you a little choice, Turk,” Matt said, standing over him, “You tell this nice reporter what you know, or we can take you to the NYPD and you get branded as a snitch. And you _know_ what Fisk does to people who snitch on him. Remember Piotr?”

Turk nodded. “The hell I do.”

Karen kneeled down to be at eye level with Turk, and smiled, “So. Turk. I got a little puzzle for you. I’m great at them.” She lowered her gun temporarily. “See, my understanding is that Fisk has a habit of cutting up and getting rid of many of his more powerful enemies. His father. Rigoletto. Anatoly Ranskahov. Bet you already know about that last one. Now, you’d think, at first, that Izqueda would be thrown in the river. But see, if that had been what happened, no one would give a shit, not even the NYPD. But imagine leaving his body in public, and a headline in tomorrow’s paper saying _Anibal Izqueda, alleged Puerto Rican gang member, slain _.__ ” She framed the headline with her hands. “It’s there for everyone to see. That’s what Fisk wants, is it?”

Turk drew his knees a little closer to his chest. “Your point?”

“Fisk wants everyone to know that Izqueda is dead,” Karen said, “I bet he wants everyone to know it was him and that they should pay him to avoid meeting a similar fate. Am I on the right track?”

“Well done,” Turk said, sarcastically, “You put two and two together to make four.”

Matt leaned forward, getting into Turk's face. “Was it Felix Manning who killed Izqueda?”

“Turk.” His gaze snapped back to Karen. “Come on. We both know he did it on Fisk's orders, correct?”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna confirm that to you.” He scowled.

“Then talk,” she said, flipping back to scary mode and brandishing her gun. "I'm not exactly what they call a patient girl."

An idea came to Matt. A guy as cowardly and connected as Turk, would probably have an insider or two higher up in the chain of command to ensure he always knew whether Fisk was about to have him marked for death. And he knew that Fisk had had a lot of issues with loyalty in his inner circle. “You ever actually had a direct line into Fisk? Or at least, one of the people who are by his side?”

“What makes you think that?” Turk asked, oh so innocently. His heartbeat betrayed his feigned

“Your lies are awful, Turk,” Matt said, clenching a hand into a fist. “All things considered…”

“I only ever chatted with the glasses guy,” he said as Matt raised his hand to strike, “I’ve never met the big man proper.”

“I don't mean whether you've spoken to Fisk or Wesley,” he sounded annoyed, "I mean, do you know anyone who's around either of them? Like a bodyguard or driver?"

Turk's heart was pounding. Matt had painted him into a corner. “Answer the fucking question, Turk,” Karen commanded.

Turk sighed and closed his eyes. “Fisk’s bodyguards, well, the ones guarding his middlemen, a few of them can be very easily persuaded. One of ‘em, Charlie Clark, he’s Felix Manning's driver. Said last night, he picked up Manning from Red Lion Bank, they had a long meeting with Carbone at the site of that building that came down, and then went up to a parking garage on 147th to speak with Izqueda. Shit got heated, Manning ended things with extreme prejudice...”

“It was Felix Manning who shot Anibal Izqueda?” Karen asked, for comfirmation's sake. _Why does that guy have to be everything that defines an evil British guy? Money launderer, middleman from Fisk to his underlings, and occasional assassinations._ “The guy who launders money for Red Lion Bank and serves as Wesley’s replacement. He did the shooting, and not one of his guards?”

“Manning did Izqueda, Charlie tells me,” Turk said. “Mozambique drill, double tap to heart, one between the eyes. Bam!” He pointed with his fingers to the approximate impact spots.

“There were three victims,” Matt said, “Izqueda and two others.”

“Izqueda’s guards,” Turk explained, “Er, two of the four who were with him. Felix’s guards popped them. Left the other two standing, told them to spread the word.”

"Which is?"

"Harlem's gangs belong to Fisk now. The ones that choose not to pay."

_Fisk is taking over this island with the force of a sledgehammer._ “You’re sure that’s what Felix said?” Matt asked.

“Charlie's a smart kid. Gives me the heads up on everything Fisk does so I can cover myself.” He eyed Karen and gave her a sly little smile. “I’m more informed on Fisk than many people think.

“Yeah, and I bet you’d sing like a canary on the witness stand,” she huffed, “So, Fisk is imposing a protection tax on the various gangs in the city, and is killing anyone who doesn’t agree?”

“20% right now,” Turk answered, “Though I hear he’ll probably jack it higher now that Izqueda is gone.”

“Obviously,” Matt said. A thought occurred to him: if Turk had an inside ear on Felix’s protection detail, maybe he had some knowledge of how Fisk was making the money to create this extortion racket from behind bars in spite of the FBI freezing his bank accounts. “How's Fisk funding all this?”

Turk laughed. “Now why would you think that I’ll-”

Matt ran a fist hard into Turk’s stomach. He wheezed, holding up a hand.

“I can do this all day, Turk,” Matt said.

Turk wheezed. “I heard something from Charlie.” He paused. "Fisk got all these new connections he obtained while he was inside."

Matt and Karen glanced at one another. _Turk knows something about how exactly Fisk gained control of the prison._ "How?" Karen asked. "What exactly did Fisk do to make himself the king of the clink?"

"Same thing he did to the Russians last year."

_He killed an existing crimelord and absorbed their operation,_ Matt realized. "Who?"

"Swallowed up some other big fish's outfit."

"Big fish?" Karen asked.

"That's right. Contraband ring on the inside. Run by this guy named Dutton. Ran the whole joint when Fisk got there, until Fisk had him killed. All his connections and guards, Fisk took them over."

"Alright," Karen replied, "So Fisk killed Dutton."

"Not directly." He glanced over his shoulder. "You know what I've heard? Word is the Punisher's the one who put Fisk where he is. Gave him a total monopoly on the joint. Except, y'know, what little share the Albanians still have there." He tugged at his collar. "Real crafty shit, I'll tell you that."

Karen felt sick, realizing just why Fisk may have been interested in Frank: it was all about using him to get rid of a rival. She'd look into that later, but  for now, she and Matt needed to know the identities of some of the other gangs Fisk was planning to make deals with, so they could see which ones would be easiest to turn against Fisk. Such as the Chinatown gangs Matt remembered Felix mentioning last night. "Who else is Fisk extorting?" Matt asked. "Heard he's got some interest in Chinatown."

“He’s actively taking interest in the Triads.”

“Gao’s people?” Matt asked, feigning confusion.

Turk shook his head. “Nah. Yangshi Gonshi and the Golden Tigers. Ain’t heard much, but some new vigilante was hitting them hard last month. A guy with a glowing fist.”

“Danny Rand?” Matt made a face.

“No. A different guy,” Turk shook his head, “This cat had a red fist and was Indian. Got a bunch of kids to follow him and do his bidding.  The five-o got them all last month, but…Tigers’ and Gonshis’ leaderships are in disarray. They've been having such a hard time getting back on their feet with all the heat it’s brought them. Felix will be parlaying with them soon.”

“How soon?” Karen asked.

“I hear from Charlie that it’s going down Saturday night."

_Two nights from now._ “Where?”

Turk bit his tongue. “Construction site at 47th and 12th. Should go down as good as Carbone last night.”

_The site of the old warehouse where Vladimir was killed._ Matt filed that away for consideration, now having an opportunity to ask about Carbone. _Maybe we should have our message about her father relayed through an intermediary._ “You know Rosalie Carbone?” he asked.

"Yeah, I know her. Sold some of my wares to her myself. She’s the second generation of her family to run things in Harlem.”

“I heard she’s been making moves down into Hell's Kitchen,” Matt said, "And that Luke had something to do with it."

“Kitchen’s been a buyer’s market ever since the Yakuza, Dogs of Hell and Irish got taken out. And Carbone's had to set up shop somewhere now that Cage has made Harlem off-limits to most of the big players, not that it does shit.”

“Any properties she owns?" Karen asked. "You know where her stashhouses are?”

"I don't know! I've never met Carbone face to face. Just Mickey, her right-hand. And he ain't gonna confide shit like that to me.” Matt could detect some micro changes in Turk’s heartbeat like happened when he was lying or being untruthful.

Karen grimaced threateningly, getting in his face. "Tell us what you do know about her," she said. "You must know something about the inner workings of her outfit. Like partners, or associates of hers."

“Please,” Turk begged. “I'm a dead man if I talk to you.”

Matt leaned down next to Karen, ignoring Turk's plea. “You really want to do this the hard way? Because I'm more than happy to oblige.” He raised his fist.

“OK, OK,” Turk said. “Carbone, you said?”

“Yeah. Tell us everything," Matt said.

"She's got a bunch of the judges and five-0 up here in her pocket, making it hard for cases against her people to stick," he exhaled, "It's been mostly limited to the east parts of Harlem the last few years, but…like you said, she really expanded aggressively into the Kitchen after Cage took over the Paradise. Fingers in all kinds of pies."

_Which would be enough for Fisk to take notice of her._ "What kinds of pies?" Karen asked.

"Weed, coke, heroin, guns," Turk answered, "Best part of it is that she is one that others have to pay if they want to sell in her turf, lest she sells 'em out to the cops."

Matt felt a nagging feeling as he realized that that sounded awfully familiar to what Fisk was doing with the Feds. "Who's she got in her pocket?"

"No one knows for certain. But everyone who's tried to cross Carbone has seen associates get locked up when they say no to her."

 

"...Just like Fisk is doing," Matt said.

 

"In fact, her friends in Brooklyn, the Costas, they're doing the same thing on a much larger scale."

_Costa. That's the last name of that other mob boss who Silvio claimed Fisk had killed for knowing about his father. I wonder who replaced him as boss._ "Who's running the Costas family?" Karen asked.

"Costa's daughter Lindsey," Turk answered. He paused, as he gathered his thoughts. "In fact, come to think of it, I've been hearin' that she's gonna be approached by some members of Fisk's outfit tonight with an offer to buy into the same deal he's just made with Carbone." He took a breath.

Matt clicked his tongue. "Where is Costa's base? A club? A garage? A construction site?"

Turk lowered his voice to a whisper. "I hear things but I don't know everythin' that happens that far out in Brooklyn. But she's got this fancy penthouse out near Coney Island she keeps all for herself.." He took a breath. "…You got a funny sense of timing comin' here askin' me 'bout this."

Matt hesitated for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Look, man," Turk took a deep breath. "Everybody on the streets' been talkin'. Shit's gettin' dangerous now that Fisk is back on the streets. I even hear he ordered some big riot to get rid of one of them lawyers who made the case against him. There's whispers that he's even got the new gangs down in the Kitchen under his belt." He looked down at his belt. "Way I see it, you put him back inside, you'll be doin' me a favor. And believe me, _that's everything_  that I know. Kapeesh? Everything." Turk looked at the floor, making his best puppy dog eyes. "We good, D?"

Matt nodded. They now had an idea as to the identity of one of Carbone's business partners and where said partner conducted business. "That's convenient." _And exactly what we need to know._

_More gangs to persuade into turning against Fisk,_ Karen thought. _And we know where we can pass a message to Rosalie Carbone and get two gangs to go after Fisk._ “I think we're through here,” she said to Matt, “Au revoir, Mr. Barrett. It _hasn't_ been a pleasure!” She got up and put her gun away, then grabbed Matt by the arm and began leading him to the front door.

"Hey, you gonna pay for this shit you busted?" Turk shouted after them as they exited.

"I'm sure you've got insurance," Karen replied, not looking back.  _And you'll have some nice scars to show your friends._ She and Matt exited the shop and were back on the snow-covered street.

“That was fun,” she said, cheerfully, as she flipped the “open” sign in the front window to “CLOSED” to delay anyone from discovering the mess. Matt began removing his scarf and putting his glasses back on as they began walking back towards Lenox Avenue to catch the 2 train back downtown.

"You still sure this plan will help turn the FBI away from you and Foggy?" Karen asked.

Matt felt a knot in his stomach. "I hope so. We know one of her colleagues. Now it's just a matter of visiting Carbone and her  friend and telling them why the deal with Fisk is very predatory."

"After we have lunch with Marci."

As they rode the 2 train downtown, headed to a lunch conversation with Marci, part of Matt itched to kill Fisk just as much as he had when Elena died as retaliation for Foggy. Or at the very least, beat him into a coma. Not that he’d be able to do either while Fisk was under the close watch of the FBI in the Presidential Hotel. Whatever the case, he decided he and Karen were going to let Fisk know just how far he was willing to go to protect the ones he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--I originally considered having Matt and Karen talk to Luke, but then decided Turk made more sense. Matt really wants his own people to be handling Fisk and sees Luke, Jessica and Danny as liabilities.
> 
> \--I suppose Matt is being a bit dickish not getting in touch with Foggy upon learning Fisk is being targeted, but given he feels like it's his fault that this is happening, I'd say it's understandable.
> 
> \-- I should give credit to a few authors whose works were used as inspirations for the scenes in this chapter. shuofthewind's "Price of War" is a major inspiration for the Turk scene as far as actions and dialogue (I do like that story's idea that Turk would probably pay a bodyguard to give him inside information on what's happening at the top) as well as Karen telling Matt about the FBI telling Foggy (it'd take a bit of time for her to be able to say what was happening). I also used a bit of a scene from Ashevillain's "What they Wouldn't Do" as inspiration for Matt and Karen's visit to Misty at the 29th.
> 
> \-- Yes, the desk sergeant is supposed to be Jamie Reagan from Blue Bloods. As of season 9, he's now working as a Sergeant at the 29th Precinct, and I keep thinking that that means he's a colleague to Misty, who is also working at the 29th.


	14. Page, Murdock & Stahl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fisk unravels the enigma that is Dex. Matt and Karen team up with Marci to figure out how to handle Nadeem's investigation of Foggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a challenge to write because of the "stage play" of Fisk walking through Dex's backstory. So I decided to include everything that we saw Fisk forming images of.
> 
> Also, some Marci Stahl POV!

**Jeri Hogarth & Associates:**

Marci Stahl was having a very rough morning. There were a lot of things she loved with this job. She loved rocking a power suit every day, somehow always knowing which ones best accented her platinum blonde hair. She loved being proud of her ability to get opposing counsel on her cases to underestimate her. Nothing satisfied her more than getting to watch the men make the mistake of assuming she was just another dumb blonde. Those were when she showed her utmost potential.

She could even be a bit of an asshole when she wanted to be, but that was the price you paid when you decided to be a woman in a man’s world. It was also a side effect of going to work at a cutthroat law firm like Landman & Zack. The price of having to put up with clients for whom legal representation was about dodging punishment for their crimes. And nowhere had that been more prominent than with the firm’s representation of Wilson Fisk.

To say Marci had gotten very angry to learn that her partners at L&Z were being complicit in drug trafficking, prostitution, murder, corruption, and the illegal evictions of people like Mrs. Cardenas from their rent-controlled tenements, would be an understatement. When Foggy had come to her with the documentation Matt had procured off Leland Owlsley through not so scrupulous means, and reminded her she once had a soul, her immediate response was to begin pulling copies of all casework she could find at L&Z that was connected to Fisk, to Wesley, to their business partners, and hand them over to Foggy. And it paid off in the end. Without what she had been able to pull up, Matt would probably not have been able to find Carl Hoffman in time to stop Fisk from eliminating him, and Fisk would have been out on the streets still controlling Hell’s Kitchen with an iron fist. It made her feel hot under the collar watching the FBI handcuff Parish Landman in his private parking space, knowing _“You underestimated what women will do to get justice, you entitled asshole.”_

After the whole deal with Landman & Zack, Marci considered herself virtually untouchable. Sure, the Bar Association did take some issue with the fact that she’d broken attorney-client privilege when she chose to turn over work product to the opposing counsel on a case her firm was involved in (and to someone that she was sleeping with) rather than to the police. But given what Matt and Foggy had disclosed to her about how much control Fisk had of the NYPD and the justice system, as well as a bit of string-pulling with her friends, Marci was able to convince the panel to give her a free pass. Thus she was one of the few survivors of Landman & Zack who walked away without being investigated or her law license being pulled, with almost everyone else being investigated and either disbarred or handed down lengthy suspensions.  She was lucky that Hogarth Chao & Benowitz took pity on her circumstances and chose to give her an office of her own, and was even happier when she managed to convince Hogarth to give Foggy an office just next door to hers after the Punisher trial, and the falling out Foggy had had with Matt.

There was a downside to flipping on Fisk, and that was the possibility of retaliation. Marci was no idiot, she knew from Foggy’s version of events that Fisk was rich and very connected, and it wouldn’t take too much digging to put two and two together and link her to his downfall. So when the news broke that Fisk had been released, she immediately began investigating on her own looking for anything to put the big man back behind bars. Convincing Foggy to run for District Attorney seemed like a good idea, since Foggy would turn over every rock in town if it got Fisk locked up, and the public attention could (as a bonus) bolster his and Marci’s careers.

One small price to that was, that Foggy would have to devote every waking hour to his campaign, and would have no time to do actual digging through paperwork. But this was where Marci excelled. She’d dig up anything she could find on Fisk and feed that information to Foggy. Foggy could then use that information to his advantage, spreading it whenever he went on the radio or TV, was giving speeches in public forums, or was just handing out flyers at the butcher shop. It would keep Fisk's criminal deeds in the public eye. Between that, and whatever Matt and Karen managed to dig up on their own time, Marci hoped that the pressure on Tower from the public and from the NYPD would become so great that he’d cave to the demands of protesters and begin building a case against Fisk.

Marci had spent Wednesday afternoon engaging in contact with one of Fisk’s lawyers, Lee, and managed to pump out some information from him about some deals Fisk was closing. It didn’t take someone with the _summa cum laude_ brain of Marci to figure out that Fisk needed new partners. Which was not exactly a surprise to her. From what she knew of Fisk's dealings at L&Z, he had Owlsley handling all his money, while he had James Wesley function as his spokesperson. Both of them were dead, as were the Russians, Yakuza, and pretty much anyone who ever got orders directly from Fisk. He also had ties to the Russians and Yakuza, who were both gone.

Without Owlsley, Marci suspected that someone new had been appointed to manage Fisk's money. Through some correspondence with friends from other law firms, she began working through a list of businesses Donovan & Partners had filed business charters for in the State of New York,  such as Kelco and WFSK, weeding out the ones she determined were dummy companies Fisk owned.  There were also a few other businesses that she recognized as former Landman & Zack clientele, and had somehow managed to avoid being shut down when the FBI seized Fisk's assets. One of the companies that D&P had chartered, Red Lion Bank, stood out among the others, in part because Marci recognized one of the company’s employees: a man named Felix Manning. Marci remembered him vaguely. He was a fixer that Parish Landman and Ellroy Zack had occasionally used to serve summonses and other dirty work that Marci did not want to know about, and he was rumored to have a few connections to organized and white collar crime beyond Fisk. She suspected that he might be the new money man.

To figure out who exactly Fisk might be forging ties with, Marci decided to take a dive into Donovan & Partners’ client list, which read like a who’s who of Manhattan’s upper crust and criminal elite. _Cornelius van Lunt. Rosalie Carbone. Anibal Izqueda. Norman Osborn. Samuel Silke. Mariah Dillard._ Those were the names she recognized. She surmised that there were probably more stuffy rich assholes that would give an arm and leg for Fisk’s friendship beyond just D &P. Marci was very familiar with Mariah Dillard from what Karen had reported in the _Bulletin_ , but the fact that she had died in custody meant her name had to be stricken. Rosalie Carbone was a slightly more promising lead: ostensibly a philanthropist from Italian Harlem, her father was an alleged crimelord who had died in a suspicious fall in the subway in 2012. Carbone seemed to fit the description Lee had given to her at lunch the previous day about a business deal with an Italian woman from Harlem. Something that actually made a lot of sense to Marci, since she also remembered reading an article in the _Bulletin_ about Luke Cage obtaining Harlem’s Paradise and forcing a truce between the Italians and Puerto Rican gangs in Harlem. If Fisk was making moves into Harlem, he was probably planning to control all organized crime in the city, and the Carbones might have been persuaded to side with him for resources. And van Lunt, Marci remembered that name as the guy who hosted that charity gala Fisk had put on shortly after going public, but he had nothing useful to contribute when she tried contacting his office.

All in all, Marci was happy to be doing this for her Foggy Bear, and for the City of New York. This happiness came to a crashing halt with the phone call she got just before 11:00 am. She smiled as she saw Karen’s name on the caller ID. _Ah, Karebear._

"Hello Karebear," Marci said, "You know, I was just thinking about you. Why aren't you covering Foggy Bear's campaign? You're closer to him than that reporter your boss had interview us."

"Conflict of interest," Karen replied, "Listen, Marci, can you get in touch with Foggy for me?"

"You want me to contact Foggy Bear?" Marci asked. _Karen worked with Foggy for over a year at Nelson & Murdock. She shouldn’t have to contact him through me. What the hell’s going on?_ "Uh, you're his former office manager. Don't you have his cell number?"

"Fisk is targeting Matt and Foggy, Marci," Karen whispered, "He's going after them, using the FBI."

Marci felt one of her hands curl into a fist as a sudden and uncontrolled rage coursed through her body from head to toe.  _The FBI are targeting Foggy. Is this for real?!_ "HE FUCKING **_WHAT_?!** " she erupted. _He’s deciding to send the FBI to hurt MY FOGGY BEAR?! Nobody dares touch Foggy Bear and gets away with it!_

"Yeah," Karen replied, "The FBI, they're in your apartment. And Ray Nadeem, he's asking questions. Somehow Fisk led him to think Matt and Foggy are dirty lawyers, and..." she took a deep breath. "...there's no easy way to say this, but he's probably going to come by to talk to you."

"Goddamnit," Marci muttered, rubbing her face with her free hand.  _He’s probably going to look at me like I’m dirty. Most people haven’t forgotten Landman & Zack._ "Tell me you're doing something about this,” she said.

"Matt and I currently working on a strategy," Karen said, trying to reassure her, "Are you free for lunch?"

There was a brief pause. Marci glanced at her watch. _I’m gonna get chewed out by Hogarth for blowing off work, but right now, I got more pressing concerns than petty divorce lawsuits and depositions._ "Uh, sure," Marci lied, "I got a clear schedule the rest of the day."

"Great," Karen said. "Does Bella Vita suit your fancy?"

 _Bella Vita?_ "That pizzeria in the Theatre District?" Marci asked. Foggy had taken her there for dinner on her birthday last October, in combination with a visit to see  _The Book of Mormon_ , and she remembered it had some really good pizzas.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Sure!" Marci responded, eagerly. "Assuming the FBI don't get to me first."

"What time works for you?"

"One o'clock," she answered, "If that's okay with you?"

"It works for Matt and me," Karen said. "We'll see you then."

"You too, Karebear."

Marci set her phone down and poured a shot glass of whiskey from the minibar in her office, to calm her nerves. She was horrified how much control Fisk clearly had over the FBI. But mostly she was downright furious. Fisk had decided that the best way to retaliate against the lawyers who put him in prison was to send the FBI after her boyfriend. Foggy's words when the two of them had encountered Matt at Josie’s on Tuesday night reverberated through her ears. _“Fisk wants my scalp, Matt! And he probably wants yours, too! And yours too, Marci!”_

 _Fuck!_ Of course, she should have seen this coming! She was the one who had suggested that Foggy put himself in the public spotlight to make himself untouchable! At the time, she'd thought it would protect Foggy. That Fisk wouldn’t dare hurt Foggy if he was so visible. Pffft. Some smart idea _that_ turned out to be. Going public wasn’t protecting her Foggy Bear, it was hurting him. _Fucking shit…_ And if Fisk was going to use the FBI to target Foggy…well, it would be a living hell for Marci.

 _But it’s not just going to stop there,_ she realized as she sat there in her office. Nadeem was going to investigate everyone remotely connected with Matt and Foggy, to see what they did or didn’t know about this alleged criminal activity. Brett Mahoney, she was sure he could handle it. But Matt. _Oh Matt._ Marci may not have been as close with Matt as Foggy or Karen, but having been allowed to know about his secret identity, she couldn’t help but worry that Nadeem’s digging into Matt might uncover the truth about his mysterious three month disappearance, his connections to Daredevil, all that.

 _I have to warn him._ Her heart was racing as she dialed Foggy on her phone.

“Marci,” Foggy answered. “What’s up?”

“Fisk is after you and Matt, Foggy Bear!” she blurted out.

There was a dead silence. “I thought you said that I should make my myself so visible he couldn’t touch me,” he said.

“Yeah, well fuck that, because he knows about it and he’s intent on taking you down,” Marci barked.

“…Did somebody get to you?” Foggy asked, concerned at the panicked tone in Marci’s voice. "Are you okay?"

“Karen just called me,” she took a deep breath, “She said the FBI just raided our apartment. They questioned her. Something about the feds thinking you and Matt are _criminal_ lawyers. And I’m…I’m worried. I'm worried for both of you. If they start looking into Matt, find out what he's doing...” _I could be disbarred for knowing about Matt's extracurricular activities._

“Son of a bitch…” Foggy muttered.  “You think...”

"The Daredevil thing? Yeah." Marci’s brain began firing on all cylinders, trying to find a way out of this. She decided they needed to find someone who could exonerate and prove Foggy was not crooked. Hopefully whatever Matt and Karen had dug up was such a witness. _Wait, let’s spin this to our advantage. Foggy’s running for District Attorney. He’s in the spotlight. We can work with this. If Fisk is going to attack us in the press, we fight back with the press. Let's  call a press conference, make Fisk's efforts publicly known._ “How many can fit into the butcher shop space?” she asked.

“About 90, and that’s the limit set by the fire marshal,” he said, slowly, “Why do you ask?”

  
“'Cause I'm thinking we should call a press conference, explain your side of things," she responded.

"Why?" Foggy asked. "What's that going to accomplish?"

"We can spin it to make the media side with you instead of Fisk," Marci explained, "I think most people will look highly upon you if you pledge full cooperation with the FBI. They won't think you have anything to hide."

"The FBI could be compromised," Foggy said.

"Maybe. But you're David taking on Goliath, and Goliath wants to squash you like a bug. You go out there, tell the world Fisk is smearing you, you might bag some votes. And as proof, we provide a witness who…” she stopped.  _We need someone who can prove that Fisk manipulated the FBI._ “Do we even have a witness willing to speak on your behalf?”

“I think Matt and Karen found someone,” Foggy replied, “You might talk to them.”

“I’ll ask them at lunch,” Marci said, “Karen and Matt invited me to discuss things with them.”

“Do you want me to be there?” Foggy asked.

“You’ve got that interview with Christine Everhart at one o'clock, remember? And then you’re doing the meet and greet at that shop.”

“Oh. Right…” she could feel Foggy wincing through the phone. She had an idea what he was thinking. _I'd like to do another double date, but duty calls._  "Do you have a time proposed?"

"Uh..." Marci checked her watch. As much as she wanted to do a press conference today, she wanted to know about the witness Matt and Karen had dug up, figuring that Fisk would have a harder time  fighting back with someone who could back up Foggy's story. There was no way she'd be able to get that and then get a press conference called before the evening news broadcasts. "Possibly tomorrow. I'd like to check with Matt and Karen to see who their witness is first. And if the FBI tries to talk to you, I’ll…run interference. See if I can threaten them with a lawsuit.”

Foggy scoffed. "Is dragging Fisk to court even going to do anything? What with the Feds in the pocket?”

“It wouldn't hurt to try!” Marci said.

“That could take weeks, even months!" Foggy protested. "And the Feds have a whole army of lawyers to fight back!"

Marci sighed. There was one last option to consider: sit back and wait. Find out just what bogus allegations Fisk was making about Foggy, then hit back accordingly. "Okay, so we ride things out, wait to see what bullshit Fisk is feeding to the FBI, and then formulate a response based on that and Matt's witness." She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm betting Nadeem will want to talk to me about you. How about I come by the shop this afternoon after I hear from him?"

"You think that's going to work?"

"I hope so..." Marci trailed off. "See you later, Foggy."

On a hunch, and Foggy's suggestion that the FBI were compromised, Marci decided to do a little background research on Ray Nadeem. He was the FBI agent that the papers were all reporting had made a deal with Fisk. The _Bulletin_ was no help, focusing more on Fisk’s crimes. Thank god New York was a multi-paper town. The _Bugle_ seemed to take a more personal approach in their coverage. The reporter they had covering the Fisk story apparently had a suspicion that Nadeem was dirty. And as much as Marci didn’t want to face the fact that Fisk was still bribing cops, their evidence was very damning. Apparently, Nadeem had a sister-in-law who’d just beaten a multiyear battle with lung cancer, and had gone into debt to pay for her treatment. Marci knew the insurance companies could be a real pain in the ass. L&Z had a few of them as clients and it just tore Marci apart seeing the companies use whatever excuses they could to wiggle out of paying out claims. Secretly, she'd often go behind her boss's backs and help these people properly submit their claims.

Given his financial struggles, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Nadeem had accepted a bribe from Fisk out of desperation. Bribery would also explain how Fisk got put up in the Presidential Hotel and why no one in the FBI was making a public stink about the situation. Given how many cops Fisk had owned when he was paying off members of the NYPD, Marci figured that where there was one bad FBI agent, there were probably at least half dozen more also doing Fisk's bidding. But she could find nothing about any of the other FBI agents working on the detail, except for another story about Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, the hero SWAT officer from the motorcade ambush, and even that was pointless.

 _Maybe I can use an insider in the DA's office to find out what the terms of Fisk's house arrest are._ She was about to shoot off a call to her friend Kirsten McDuffie in the DA’s office when the unmistakable sound of an argument began wafting through her door. Glaring hatefully at the door, Marci tried to ignore it, thinking it was probably just Jessica going off at Hogarth down the hall. That is, until the secretary assigned to her and Foggy knocked on her door and let herself in. She looked distressed.

"Katerina," Marci said.

“Is something going on with Foggy, Marci?” Katerina asked, a look of concern on her face.

 _Shit. Must be the FBI. Thank god Karen called to warn me._ “Uh, no,” Marci lied, “What’s with the ruckus?”

“The FBI are here, they're in...they're in Foggy's office,” Katerina whispered. “They're rummaging through his desk, searching his computer.”

 _Well, they're not going to find any incriminating shit there._ “I haven't the faintest idea what might be going on,” she said.

"And there's this one agent, Indian by the looks of it, who really, really, wants to talk to you."

 _Ray Nadeem is here._ Marci quietly closed her laptop. "Send him in, please," she said, with a false cheer in her voice.

Katerina disappeared down the hall a bit, while Marci settled back into her chair and readied herself into “cheerful bitch” mode.  _I can be very annoying when I act like a bitch. I can be even more annoying when I'm weaponizing that._ A second later, Katerina reappeared, escorting in an agent with tan skin and dark slicked-back hair that made Marci briefly ponder whether he was related to Prince Hans or not.

“Marci Stahl, this is-“ Katerina started.

“I’m Special Agent Ray Nadeem with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Nadeem interrupted her and held up his FBI badge, “I need to ask you some questions.” He took a seat across from Marci. Katerina stepped out and shut the door behind her.

“Ah! A G-man!” Marci said, cheerfully. She leaned back in her chair and grinned.  _Let me toy with him._ “You know, I was just waiting for someone like you to show up! It gets _sooo_ depressing having to deal with the worst dregs of society and all the boring paperwork and shit that comes with it. In fact, I actually came into work today thinking just that. ‘Man, it would be so exciting if the police showed up and questioned me about a matter not pertaining to one of Jessica Jones’s cases.’ So to what do I owe the pleasure of being questioned about on this snowy Thursday?”

Nadeem seemed annoyed if anything by Marci’s flippant attitude. “What is your relationship to Foggy Nelson?” he asked.

“Oh, you’re here to talk to me about Foggy Bear?” she feigned incredulity. She looked at the clock. “Huh. Well, uh, he’s uh, not in today. And he’s better at describing the relationship than I am.”

“Just answer the question, Miss Stahl.”

Marci clicked her tongue. “He’s a cunning linguist, if I should say. Great at boyfriendly activities.” She absentmindedly motioned with her hand towards her lap, hoping Nadeem caught the Freudian slip.

Nadeem took out his notepad. “Has your boyfriend confided in you about the work he and Matt Murdock did for Wilson Fisk?”

 _God, you should asking me about MY work at a Fisk-controlled firm, not whatever work you think Fisk engaged Foggy Bear in._ The smile disappeared from Marci's face. “Neither of them worked for Fisk,” she said, her voice turning deathly cold. “I worked for the man, indirectly, through Landman & Zack."

"I'm not asking about your work. I'm asking about Nelson & Murdock."

Marci glanced at her nails. "I do know they were hired by James Wesley through Confederated Global to work a case for them, but that’s all he's confided to me. If you want me to talk all about Elena Cardenas, who hired Nelson & Murdock to sue us, and who Fisk had murdered for his Midland Circle project, I'd be more than happy to cooperate.”

Nadeem didn’t seem satisfied by her answer. “Tell me about why Nelson and Murdock broke up their practice.”

 _I don’t know why Nelson & Murdock’s breakup matters in all this. _“They had a fight,” Marci said, plainly, “It happens with people."

"Was it about their work with Wilson Fisk as a client?"

Marci shook her head. _No, because Foggy Bear and Murdock would never so much as lift a finger for Tully, much less Fisk._ "No, it was to do with the whole Punisher trial. Bullshit argument over the firm’s direction, that kind of thing. I really can’t help you there.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Nadeem asked.

“Well, should I answer alphabetically or chronologically?” she asked. She smiled faintly. “You really can cut the shit now. We both know why you’re here: you’re here because Wilson Fisk  bribed you into letting him out of prison, putting him up in that cushy hotel he owns, and also is paying you to destroy the lives of two good men who kept me from getting disbarred with Parish Landman, Ellroy Zack and a bunch of other attorneys.”

“I, uh-“ Nadeem stammered.

Marci leaned forward in her chair and lay into him. “What's he got on you? Your sister-in-law? Saanvi? Her cancer treatments you can’t afford? I know the insurance companies can be a bitch but that’s no excuse to take a job for a thug like that.”

“Keep Saanvi out of this!” Nadeem growled. He was uncomfortable with his family being brought up, especially by a stranger accusing him of bribery. Which was far from the truth. "And just for the record, my employer's the United States government."

 _He’s sweating._ “Right..." Marci narrowed her eyes at Nadeem. _Honestly, it doesn't matter who pays you. You're the one Fisk made his little deal with. So as far as I care, you're one of Fisk's goons and I'm gonna treat you like that._ "Do you know what happens to people Fisk decides he doesn't want to use anymore, Agent Nadeem?” she said, “He kills them. Shoots them in the face. Or cuts their heads off with a car door. Just ask Detective Christian Blake. Or Vladimir Ranskahov.”

"Did Nelson ever sleep with you and convince you to illegally remove work product from your old firm?" he asked.

 _Unethical yes, but illegal, no._ "...No, he did not," Marci pursed her lips, "If I may ask, Agent Nadeem, if you found out your boss was involved in a criminal conspiracy, and the people you're supposed to take this information to are also involved in said conspiracy, you'd be perfectly justified in going to a third party, would you not?"

"...I suppose I would," Nadeem digressed.

"And this timing you have coming here, so awfully convenient?" Marci went on. She laughed darkly as she folded her arms, "I mean, the papers this morning run saying Foggy Bear's running for District Attorney and then hours later you turn up here. Ever consider that Fisk just wants to get rid of someone who threatens his precious nest egg?"

“Here’s what I think, Miss Stahl,” Nadeem stood up,  “I think Nelson & Murdock are hiding a double life, and you and Karen Page know all about it. And you’re being so dodgy because you know that when one of them goes down, you’ll be lucky if all you and Miss Page get indicted for is simple aiding and abetting your boyfriends. The truth will come out, Miss Stahl; it always does.”

“Right, ‘cause the law’s always about the truth,” Marci rolled her eyes and smiled viciously, “Face it, it’s Murdock and Foggy Bear’s word vs. Fisk’s word and there’s a lot riding on that sweet deal you made with him. If I were you, I would drop this malicious investigation today and ask Fisk about the syndicates he's making deals with behind your backs.”

“Or else what?”

She got up from her chair. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait for the suit we're planning to file against your office for slander and wrongful accusations.” She walked over to her door and opened it, motioning for Nadeem to leave the office. "Until that time, I demand you vacate  the premises. Immediately."

Nadeem got up and stepped out. _I'm gonna have a little chat with Murdock later this afternoon, see if he's more willing to chat than Stahl here. Might help to have Dex with me.  
_

"I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, Miss Stahl," he pointed a finger at her as he stopped in the doorway, "The FBI always gets its man. And if we have to drag you and your squeeze downtown, we will."

Marci didn't want to let him go without getting one last dig in. “Oh you're just gonna have to try that,” she smiled, “Read up the rules of spousal privilege. You’ll never get me to say a bad word against Foggy Bear on a stand. And I doubt Murdock will ever talk to you even if you do try to subpoena him. In fact, I doubt he could even read your subpoenas."

With that, Nadeem left, visibly fuming just a bit. Marci sank back in her chair and sighed. _Wow, that felt excellent, being so bitchy towards an FBI agent. It’s more endearing when I’m in a good mood, though. Can't wait to tell Matt and Karen about this at lunch.  
_

* * *

Fisk couldn't be more relaxed. Now that Nelson & Murdock was being targeted by the FBI, all the people who could potentially derail his plans were hopefully being sidetracked, enough so that Fisk could study up on Dex with minimal distractions.

Nadeem was busy chasing down dead-end leads that would eventually turn out to be false. In due time, Nadeem would find out that he had been misled into pursuing innocent lawyers. By the time he did, it would be too late to back out, at which point Fisk would be ready to twist the knife even further. Nadeem had no idea of was that Fisk had had him marked years ago, way back even before Wesley had died. In fact, it had been James Wesley who was the reason for Nadeem’s predicament. After the bombings of the Russians, Wesley had realized that Fisk was dangerously close to getting exposed, given the public nature of the attacks, as well as the increased heat from the NYPD as a result of the cops who'd been killed in the sniper attack on Detective Blake. Sensing the possibility of an arrest in the near-future, Wesley decided that there should be FBI agents who could be manipulated into making an informant deal with his employer, as a contingency to ensure that Fisk could eventually get out of prison if the worst ever happened. A smart move, given the whole mess that ensued with Owlsley and Hoffman.

For the deal to look good on paper, Wesley had decided that they needed an incorruptible agent, an agent who was so clean that he could be easily exploited. With a little research and a little probing from Hattley, Wesley found the perfect patsy in Ray Nadeem. He and Fisk found that Saanvi, Nadeem's sister-in-law by marriage to his brother Nihar, had been diagnosed with lung cancer. They also found that Ray was a man who did everything to support his family, and was committed to getting her the best treatment possible. Knowing that the insurance companies were a pain in the ass to deal with, they implemented a two-step process. First, with a few phone calls, Fisk and Wesley were able to convince the insurance companies to cut off Nadeem’s sister-in-law. This would drive Nadeem deep into debt as he was forced to pay for her ongoing treatment out of pocket. To ensure Nadeem was trapped in debt, they also instructed Hattley to deny Nadeem any promotions that would give him a big pay bump. And it worked. By the time Fisk learned that the Feds wanted Vanessa, Nadeem was in enough of financial hole that he eagerly took Fisk’s information on the Albanians without considering the ramifications.

That had settled Nadeem. He was sidetracked trying to investigate the law firm that had taken down Fisk. Nelson & Murdock. All three of the defunct law firm’s members were actively gunning for him. Foggy Nelson had a lot of guts in choosing to run for District Attorney and be very public about his sentiments. Nadeem was eventually going to find out about the fraud that Fisk had duped Theo into committing. In fact, Felix had documentation ready so that they could leak a story to the press about the fraud if Foggy refused to back out of the race. Felix was also gathering evidence for a story that would out Matt Murdock as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen on the off-chance they had to go that route.

Matt Murdock and Karen Page, meanwhile, were a different force to be reckoned with. Since the news broke on Monday night, they’d shown that they would stop at absolutely nothing to put Fisk back in the prison where he belonged. Visiting the Presidential Hotel’s lobby, beating up Donovan, interviewing Hattley, Matt making a visit to the prison to gain info on Jasper Evans…they were probably the biggest threat to Fisk’s continued freedom. Hopefully, their best friend being targeted by the FBI would be enough of a distraction that they’d be blindsided by what Fisk was planning for hampering Murdock's night life: an evil Daredevil.

Even before he’d figured out that Daredevil was Matt Murdock, Fisk hated the masked man with a vengeance, and wanted nothing more than to see him burn. He also had known that the masked man had a lot to do with his downfall incarceration. He’d been the one who’d prevented Rance from eliminating Karen Page. His persistent attacks were what had weakened Fisk’s partnerships with both the Russians and the Yakuza. And he’d been the one who handed Carl Hoffman to the 15th Precinct, granting Owlsley a last laugh from beyond the grave. The masked man had been responsible for obtaining a large amount of evidence for the prosecution's case against Fisk. As he’d bided his time, Fisk decided there was no better way to discredit the evidence that convicted him, than to make people question whether Daredevil really had been the good guy they thought he was. The press would lap up the story of a fallen hero like a dog lapping up water. And if Daredevil was discredited, they’d question the evidence against Fisk. And he’d be discrediting Matt Murdock and Karen Page’s reputations as a nice bonus.

His first intended target for his fake Daredevil was the _New York Bulletin_. Fisk had hated that he no longer had any moles on the reporting staff, ever since Caldwell was arrested by the FBI. It was also where Ben Urich had been employed, and where Karen Page was currently working. And ever since his arrest, they’d understandably adapted a very anti-Fisk slant in all of their stories about him. So Fisk was eager to exact a little payback at the newspaper. What better way to do that than get rid of their editor-in-chief, Mitchell Ellison. Ellison was the one ensuring the paper stayed biased against Fisk. If his staff were to be killed by a fake Daredevil, Fisk could easily then blackmail Ellison into censoring Karen Page by forcing her to write pro-Fisk stories.

There had been a small problem when it came to making the fake Daredevil: finding a candidate suitable for the job. He couldn't just train someone to replicate Daredevil's skills, he wanted someone who already had a lot of combat training and a willingness to kill without hesitation. Daredevil was a seasoned fighter with years of practice under his belt. Meaning that anyone Fisk put in an identical suit needed to match the real Daredevil’s abilities; someone capable of taking down entire ESU teams, lest he’d be quickly outed by the press as an imposter and presumed to be ". Lady Luck decided to play her hand for Fisk. And when he saw Dex kill those Albanian gunmen during the motorcade attack, the perfect candidate had fallen right into his lap. Dex was about the same age as the real Daredevil – mid 30s – and clearly was a very skilled fighter. No one could pull off shots like Dex could without years of practice.

There was only one way Fisk was going to get Dex on his side, and that was to study his background to find exploitable weaknesses. He was not a gambler, but he knew that the best way to fight an enemy was to understand how they made decisions so he could find what made them most vulnerable.

Keeping his promise, Donovan came by the penthouse at around 11:00 am that morning, carrying a Banker’s box. He entered and set the box down on the table in the living room, with the shipping label facing Fisk. Fisk was a little skeptical that Donovan only had a single Banker’s box. Part of him was expecting there to be more; that Donovan had another box or two that would be delivered later today. Nevertheless, he removed the lid from the box that had been provided. It was packed with file folders.

“Is this everything?” Fisk asked. _There isn't more coming?_

“Everything Felix's investigators were able to dig up on short notice, plus Hattley's own personnel files,” Donovan answered. There was an apologetic note in his voice, one of “ _I'm sorry if this was less than you were expecting, Mr. Fisk.”_

 _Short notice being 24 hours._ Fisk could concede, this was to be expected. He hadn’t even known of Dex until less than 72 hours ago. Of course, there would be less information for Felix’s people to gain quick access to. If this had been someone he’d been working long-term, like Nadeem or Hattley, there’d be at least two, three, maybe even four boxes of notes. Not that he was complaining. He wouldn’t let that deter him. Despite the rather short notice, the box was packed to the brim with folders. Felix’s private investigators had clearly still managed to find a decent trove of information about FBI Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter; enough so that Fisk remained hopeful at finding a weak link to manipulate him. Felix had already taken a few steps of his own, having hired Julie to work as a waitress at the Presidential Hotel’s bar, where Dex would undoubtedly run into her if he ever went downstairs for a coffee break.

Among the contents were some employment files from Dex’s various jobs: his current one in the FBI, which was a manila folder with Dex’s photo clipped to the front. There was also a blue file with the seal of the US Army stamped on it, highlighting Dex’s military service. And there was an employment form from the Brooklyn Suicide Prevention Center.

But those were not relevant to Fisk quite yet. What interested him was that more than half of the folders in the box were sealed patient files from the Riviera Psychiatric Center in Jackson Heights, all with Dex’s name printed on the tabs. This was most intriguing. Dex had apparently spent several years there. To Fisk, this was an indication that Dex had a few screws loose in the head, though not enough to keep him out of the Army and the FBI. Two items of note stood out to him: the first was a sealed “Juvenile Medical Record”. Evidently, Dex had violent tendencies that had gotten himself thrown into juvenile hall. A little ways back from that a couple folders containing cassette tapes, probably audio recordings from sessions with a psychiatrist.

But what had gotten Dex into Riviera Psychiatric? What was his life like as a kid? How did he get himself into the FBI? Did he have any loved ones? Those were the questions Fisk most wanted to have answered.

“This will take some time,” Fisk said to Donovan. He wanted to be very thorough and not be disturbed by anyone.

“I brought an audiobook.” Donovan produced a cassette player and set it down on the table next to the box. Sensing that his client wanted some privacy, he took one chair and dragged it over to the kitchen, where he could continue to do his work as Fisk walked his way through Dex’s life.

Fisk turned his attention to one of the first things he’d pulled out of the box. It was the patient intake form, from when Dex was first admitted to the center, listing his original residence at the Lyndhurst Home for Boys, his birthplace of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and other basic information. It was paper-clipped to a transparent binder containing transcripts of Dex’s sessions with a therapist by the name of Dr. Eileen Mercer. _Let’s see what the good doctor has to say_ , Fisk thought. Over the next four hours of reading, broken up by a half-hour break for lunch from room service, he worked his way meticulously through Dex’s life.

* * *

Born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on February 5th, 1981, Dex had not had a very good childhood. When he was seven, his parents were killed in a car accident. He eventually found himself at the Lyndhurst Home for Boys, a group home out in Queens. For reasons unapparent to anyone, he had trouble fitting in with the rest of the boys. He became a pitcher on a Little League baseball team. In his spare time, he took to bouncing a baseball repeatedly off a brick wall on the side of the building to practice his aim. His coach, Ron Bradley, took great interest in Dex, seeing him as Major League-worthy material who would one day be on the Yankees’ roster.

Wanting to improve his star pitcher’s aim, Dex’s coach decided to eventually buy him some better gloves.

“Dex, ready to go? Game starts in 20,” his coach said, finding Dex bouncing a ball off a wall by the parking lot, “Traffic's a nightmare! We gotta hustle!”

Dex ignored him, continuing to relentlessly throw his ball at the dent he’d managed to drill in the wall from weeks of continuous impact.

“What's the deal?” his coach asked, concerned. “You don't even got your uniform on.”

Still no response. Dex was brooding, angry at his parents for dying on him and leaving him to fend for himself.

“You all right, buddy? Trouble in paradise?” Bradley kneeled down next to Dex, his voice belying his concern. “Does the headmaster know you're drilling a hole in his pile of bricks?

“He doesn't like it,” Dex replied, flat and almost emotionless.

Bradley didn’t really care. Dex had an aim like none of the other pitchers on his roster. “Well he gives you a hard time, you send him my way,” he said, “It's damn fine practice.”

Dex never stopped throwing his ball at the wall. Bradley decided to break out a gift in hopes that it would get Dex to take a break. Keep him from tiring his arm.

“Hey, I got you a little something,” he suddenly said. He removed the new pitcher’s glove from his gym bag. It still had the tags attached to it. “I was gonna wait until after the game, but…”

 _A new pitcher’s glove? Sweet!_ Dex stopped pitching the ball and decided to try out the new glove.

“100% leather,” Bradley explained, “That's steerhide in the pocket and cowhide in the palm, so it's nice and soft. Try it on.”

Dex slipped the glove on. He smiled widely. The glove fit perfectly, and it almost felt like he wasn’t even wearing it.

“An all-star pitcher deserves some all-star gear,” Bradley said.

Dex beamed back at him. Bradley patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on, let's go break it in.” He got up, grabbing his bag as he prepared to return to his car.

“Wait,” Dex spoke up, “Real quick, can I show you my new wind-up?”

Bradley knew they were going to run a little late for the game, but he digressed, he’d never say no to someone like Dex. “All right, showboat. Let's see it.”

*****************

**FOUR YEARS LATER:**

**July 14 th, 1992:**

“You're in the zone, Dex! Keep throwing those heaters!”

It was a hot summer day. Dex’s team was on a hot streak, a success that no doubt was tied to their pitcher’s killer aim. Three years of this had done good for Dex. Just playing on any day could guarantee his team a win, as the players on the other teams just weren’t fast enough or smart enough to figure out how to hit any ball he pitched.  At the rate he was striking out players, they were going to make it to the Little League World Series in South Williamsport, Pennsylvania in the fall.

Dex pitched the first six innings perfectly. He managed to strike out player after player after player. Bradley was impressed with Dex, and would’ve loved to keep him going. Problem was, he wanted to give the others on the team a little more time on the field. They couldn’t just be reliant on Dex alone.

“All right, kiddo,” Bradley said, coming out to the pitcher’s mound as the inning came to an end, “Pack it in. Let's give that arm of yours a rest.”

Dex suddenly got very angry. “You're pulling me?!”

“I'm gonna let Kanon finish it out,” Bradley said. _I'm sorry._

 _Kanon is an amateur. I doubt he’ll ever be as good as I am._ “But but no one's gotten a hit off me!” Dex protested.

“I know,” Bradley said, trying to explain his side of things and stay positive, “You're killin' it out here. No question. But I gotta give other kids some field time.”

Dex refused to be swayed. “You can't do this. It's not fair! You gotta let me keep going!” His breathing accelerated and he felt his eyes tearing up.

“Keep it together, okay?” Bradley said, trying to calm his protégé, “Take a few deep breaths. Big gulps of air.”

“I need--I need to keep going!” Dex was unable to hold back his tears. “If I pitch a perfect game, then they might-“

“ _Dex._ ” Bradley said. He wanted all the time in the world to calm Dex down, tell him it was going to be all right. But he had a team to oversee, and the next inning was due to start in ten minutes. The least he could do was tell Dex to go find something off-field to pitch a spare ball at. “You could pitch a billion perfect games. It won't bring your parents back. Okay?” Dex returned the ball to his coach. “Hit the pine. Grab a Popsicle. We'll talk later.”

Dex returned to the bench as Kanon stepped up to take his place. As he sat there, something inside Dex snapped. _Nobody benches me without paying a price._ He picked up another baseball from Bradley’s equipment bag, hands trembling with rage. Before anyone knew what was happening, he hurled it at a post in the chainlink fence separating the dugout from the field. His throw was so hard it bounced off the post…and beaned Coach Bradley on the back of the head. He fell face-forward onto home plate, dead on impact with the ground.

*****************

The police were summoned, and Dex was taken into custody for questioning. After several days of interviews and a few weeks of court hearings, the group home’s lawyers were able to argue for Dex to receive psychiatric attention, and probation instead of time in juvenile hall. He began to visit a therapist at the Riviera Psychiatric Institute, Dr. Eileen Mercer, who he saw on a twice-weekly basis.

“Well, this has been nice so far, hasn't it?” Dr. Mercer asked Dex, who was sketching a drawing of himself in his pitcher’s uniform. “Talking like this.” Dex said nothing and continued drawing.

“Now that we've gotten to know each other a little bit, I wonder if we could talk about Coach Bradley? What happened at the field? How did it make you feel? Sad? Maybe a little scared?”

“I wasn't sad,” Dex said.

“Why not, do you think?” she asked.

“He was a jerk,” Dex answered, bluntly.

“How so? How was Coach Bradley a jerk?”

“He never let me do what I wanted,” Dex complained, “Didn't know shit about pitching.”

“He was your coach for a long time,” Dr. Mercer referred to the police interviews from the day of the incident. “Wasn’t he? Was he always such a jerk to you? What about last year when he named you MVP? Was he a jerk then?”

“No,” Dex admitted, “He used to be awesome.”

Dr. Mercer wrote down a note in her notepad. She concluded that Dex had some sort of borderline personality disorder.

“Dex,” she said, “tell me--and be honest. We like honesty around here.” Not that it would matter, legally, but she wanted to know whether Dex really wanted to kill his coach or it was just bad luck. She got up from her chair and crossed her office to the table where Dex was drawing. “When you hit Coach Bradley, was that an accident?”

Dex didn’t stop drawing. “Dex, whatever you say stays between us. That's the law.”

“No,” Dex said, after taking a long pause to answer, “It wasn't an accident.”

Dr. Mercer didn’t say anything. If Dex could do what he did to his coach, what was to say he wouldn’t do that to someone else who disagreed with him? At the same time, she thought, Dex could possibly be rehabilitated enough to rejoin society.

“Am I in trouble?” Dex asked.

“No. No,” Dr. Mercer answered, “It wasn't your fault.”

“But I just told you, I did it on purpose,” Dex pointed out.

“That doesn't mean it was your fault,” Dr. Mercer said. "It's confusing, isn't it?”

She decided to use drawings to illustrate what she was saying.

“Here, let me put it like this.” She pointed to the sketch of Dex. “This is you, right?”

“Yeah,” Dex shrugged.

“This is fantastic,” she said, “But you see how alone you are? It's just you, surrounded by all this emptiness. It's been that way for most of your life, hasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Dex nodded.

“I mean, most kids, they have moms or dads to teach them right from wrong, to show them how to behave.”

“My parents mostly got mad at me,” Dex said.

“Yes,” Dr. Mercer agreed, “Then they died. And there were things that you never learned. You see? Not your fault.” Those things he never was taught were what she figured could get Dex back to normalcy. “Good news is, you've got me now.” It would be a long couple of years, but maybe one day, Dex would emerge a better man, who’d be remembered for things other than ‘that guy who killed his little league coach for benching him’.

“Now, we've got a lot of work to do, but I think that it is going to be fun,” Dr. Mercer continued, “We are going to establish some routines, learn to stay calm. And first things first, we're gonna practice empathy.”

Dex made a face at her. “What's that?”

“That means being kind to someone when they're in pain,” Dr. Mercer said, “So let's say, for example, that my cat got sick this morning and I was upset.

What would you say to me? How about something like, ‘I'm sorry. That sounds hard’?”

Dex decided to give it a try. "I'm sorry,” he said, rather emotionlessly, “That sounds really hard.”

Dr. Mercer smiled beamingly at him.  _Needs a little more emotion, but it's a start._ “Look at you! You even put a "really" in there! I like a fast learner.” _Maybe he’ll be out of here in five years with a clean bill of health._ “I think we are gonna make a terrific team, you and me.” Dex began to draw a sketch of her, alongside him.

*****************

**EIGHT YEARS LATER:**

**September 29 th, 2000**

Eight years of therapy sessions had done good for Dex. He had mostly gotten his life back in order and was in his sophomore year at Columbia.  But there wouldn’t be much more time for Dr. Mercer. She’d been diagnosed with bronchitis, making it difficult to breath without the assistance of an oxygen tank. Doctors didn’t think she had long to live. They gave her less than a year to live.

To commemorate her last session as Dex’s therapist, she decided to pop a bottle of champagne. “Nothing marks an occasion like a little bubbly, huh?” she said as she poured herself a cup. “It's a-a Cava, actually. Spanish champagne. It was a little farewell gift from the chiropractor down the hall. Tomorrow is my last day in the building.” She decided to offer the cup to Dex. “Here. Go on.”

“I'm not 21,” Dex said.

“Good for you,” Dr. Mercer said, taking the cup for herself. She coughed several times as she downed the contents of the glass. “It's been quite a challenging day,” she mused, as she put the bottle down on the table by her chair, “Quite a few goodbyes. Lots of longtime clients.”

“That-That's hard,” Dex swallowed, trying to hide his fear, “That's really hard.” _I can’t possibly imagine what it must be like._

“…and then there's this,” she continued talking, “our last session together, which I've been dreading since my prognosis.”

“Then don't leave,” he said, resisting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to be pushed away by Dr. Mercer. She was like a mother figure to him. “We can keep meeting. I can keep getting better.”

“Dex-“ she pleaded.

“You can't leave!” he clenched his teeth.

“You are gonna be fine, Dex,” Dr. Mercer said, trying to reassure him, “We prepared for this. You are gonna get a job with a nice, rigid structure. You're gonna stick to your meds. And if you get off track, you can listen to these.”

She handed him a small white box. It was filled with cassette tapes from their sessions.

“This is every session we've had,” she explained, “Cycle through them again. When we remind ourselves of how far we've come, we're less inclined to slip back.”

She absentmindedly grabbed one of the tapes, twirled it around a few times in her fingers, and then put it back.

“And one last thing.” Dr. Mercer grabbed a business card and handed it to Dex. “This is a, uh a colleague of mine. He's a fine therapist, with a lot of expertise in your particular-“

“I don't want another therapist!” Dex exploded. He got up from his chair, crossed the gap between their chairs, and got in her face. _They’ll never understand me!_

Dr. Mercer was taken aback by his sudden outburst. “Are you trying to scare me?” she asked.

“No,” he said, coldly, “Not scare you.”

“Then what is your intention?” she asked. “And be honest.”

Dex fumed. “I want…” he shuddered. “I want to kill you,” he said. He removed her breathing tube from her nostrils.

Dr. Mercer managed to keep her composure, by some miracle. “Say more,” she coaxed him. “Why do you want to kill me? To put me out of my misery?”

“To punish you,” he clenched his teeth.

“I'm not quite sure what I've done wrong,” she said, confused.

“I want to kill you for dying. For leaving me.” _I can’t be abandoned._

“Death always wins, Dex,” she whispered, “Eventually. But when it comes quietly and naturally, it can be a beautiful event. Which is why we never hasten it with violence.”

Dex took a step back. She was right, but he needed guidance, and not from some cassette tapes.

“I can't do this alone,” he protested, “You remember what I did? Last time I was alone?”

“Then find someone,” she said, putting her oxygen line back in.

“I don't want another therapist!” he exclaimed.

“Any good person with a decent heart will do,” she clarified. “Someone to look up to.” Dex paused. _Anyone? “_ Your internal compass isn't broken, Dex. It just works better when you have the North Star to guide you.”

*****************

Over the next seventeen years, Dex tried to take Dr. Mercer’s lessons to heart, getting a job with a Brooklyn based suicide prevention hotline right out of college. The job was rigidly structured. Take calls from suicidal people and try to convince them that it was not worth it to take their own lives. He found himself regularly applying the words from Dr. Mercer’s last session onto the callers he received. He got mixed results (Fisk was particularly fixated on an instance where Dex encouraged a guy to kill his abusive stepfather; whether or not the guy actually did that, was another story entirely). While he was there, Dex became attracted to another woman who worked there by the name of Julie Barnes. Even after he left the suicide hotline, he continued to stalk her, watching her from a distance, following her on her morning jogs along the East River, etc.

In 2008, Dex got laid off at the hotline as a result of budget cuts. Needing another rigidly structured job, he decided to join the Army. Dr. Mercer had fudged his record a bit to make him look better for job interviewers, which was how he managed to get past the recruitment stage and psychological entrance exams. As a private, he did two tours of duty of Afghanistan and Iraq, and was also part of the platoon that defended Manhattan during the Incident.

In the fall of 2012, Dex was honorably discharged from the Army, and joined the FBI. Rising through the ranks, he was inducted into the New York field office’s Organized Crime Division, working under the command of Tammy Hattley. He also served on the SWAT team, a job where his stellar pitching skills from childhood transitioned effortlessly to guns and sniper rifles. It was in this capacity that he ended up among the agents detailed to protect Wilson Fisk as he was transferred from Rikers Island to the Presidential Hotel. Trickshots, like the one with which he’d killed Coach Bradley, were what took down many of the Albanian gunmen that night in the motorcade attack.

* * *

By three o’clock, when Fisk had caught up to the present day, the entire table was covered with the contents of Dex’s life. He was examining a photograph of Julie, taken just yesterday morning by one of Felix’s investigators as she was jogging on the East River. _I’d say she’s his North Star,_ he concluded.

“If I may ask, Mr. Fisk,” Donovan suddenly broke the silence, “Without getting into specifics, what's this all about?”

Fisk set the photo of Julie down on his tableau and rose, folding his arms behind his back. _He’s perfect. Now I just need to convince him that I am his North Star._ “Right now, I am New York's scapegoat,” Fisk said, taking a few steps towards Donovan’s chair in the kitchen. “Downstairs, there are protesters chanting prayers to drive me out into the wilderness! The attention that it brings is an impediment for my plan.” His protection racket could not be properly implemented if the protesters weren’t supporting him. If Matt Murdock and Karen Page were hounding his associates. If Foggy Nelson gained enough support to unseat Blake Tower.  But…if he could vilify the former members of Nelson & Murdock, turn opinions against them, miracles could happen. _There’s nothing the press loves better than to see a beloved hero take a fall from grace._ “Fortunately, the public is easily distracted.” _When they hear that Daredevil has become a mass murderer, they’ll turn on him._ And Dex, he was the perfect candidate to impersonate Matt Murdock’s alter ego. Gullible, easy to manipulate. “Which makes the solution for my problem quite simple: the city needs a new villain. And I think I might've found him.”

"Which is to say?"

"Someone who can tarnish the reputation of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Fisk answered. "Make them confused. Question their beliefs. And most importantly, discourage the riffraff who want to tear down a year's worth of planning."

Donovan nodded. "I can arrange a press conference or two once whatever you've got planned has been implemented, for further benefit."

Fisk nodded. "Do it." _I may no longer have Wesley to draft speeches for me, but Donovan can serve more or less as a somewhat adequate replacement. And it would probably help me if I had Vanessa by my side._

* * *

Matt and Karen got off the 2 train at Times Square-42nd Street, heading to the Bella Vita to meet with Marci and dive right into launching a strategy to exonerate Foggy. They didn’t really care at this point whether Fisk went back to prison, they could bide their time with that. But neither of them were willing to wait when it came to Foggy being a target.

As they exited the station, Karen’s phone began vibrating. She and Matt quickly stepped off to the side at the top of the stairs to answer it. It was Marci’s caller ID.

“It’s Marci,” she told Matt.

“You think she has something?” Matt asked, anxious.

“Maybe,” she said, “I hope she’s not calling to say she’s running late or anything.”

Matt chuckled. “Marci is very punctual.”

Karen sighed, wistfully. “I hope so,” she said. She swiped across the screen and answered the call. “Marci?”

"Hey Karebear," Marci greeted her, sounding distracted. "You alright?"

The corner of her mouth turned up into a smile.

"I’m perfectly capable of handling myself," she reminded her.

"Sorry," Marci said, chuckling, "You’re the mistress of death here."

Karen was briefly drowned out by the _boop boop_ of a police car trying to get through the crowd of pedestrians. "Everything all right?” Karen asked. “You’re not tied up at the office, are you?”

“No, I just got out,” Marci replied, “I’m walking over right now. Where are you? I hear sirens.”

“Uh, Matt and I are in Times Square,” she said, “We just got off the subway.”

“Okay,” Marci answered. “See you in twenty minutes hopefully.”

Karen glanced at her watch. “I think that’s doable even in traffic.”

It was beginning to snow lightly as Matt and Karen slowly made their way through the crowds of Times Square pedestrians towards 43rd Street. Matt didn’t need his sight to know that pretty much everyone who passed him and Karen was bundled up in whatever clothes they could find.

Karen’s fingers were twined with Matt’s. At a distance, one would think they were a loving couple, with Matt allowing Karen to take the place of his cane, which was neatly folded up in one hand. And they were. They truly were in love and at peace with one another, even if they had yet to say the magic words. If only they didn’t have that sense of unease that was the man in the Presidential Hotel’s penthouse.

“I love the cold,” she said, “Sometimes it makes me feel like home.”

“You,” he said deliberately, “are bizarre.”

She hummed. “But you love me for it.”

He squeezed her hand tighter, relishing the thrill of being this close to her, of holding onto her, of being able to do something as simple and sweet as walk through Hell’s Kitchen.

“What exactly does snow look like to you?” she asked, curious.

He breathed in deeply. “It’s a very lovely feeling. Cold, but that’s never bothered me anyways. I can feel the flakes on my skin. They’re accumulating in your hair and eyelashes. It’s a wonderful sound. The only thing that rivals it, I think, is rain.”

Karen blushed, remembering their first kiss in the rain, which felt like it was eons ago. “You’re not just saying that because we kissed in a rainstorm.”

Matt laughed. “I’m being dead serious.”

Karen couldn’t help but giggle. It was nice to talk about something light and topical. Anything to keep their minds off Wilson Fisk.

“Much as I hate the circumstances behind leaving Vermont, there were things I loved about it,” she mused, “Winter was always my favorite time of the year.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, “I've never been."

"Really?" she asked. "I think you'd like it. Swap the pungent odors of this godforsaken town and be overwhelmed by the scent of maple trees.”

“That sounds fatal,” Matt said, doubtfully.

“There was a maple syrup distillery in town when I lived there,” Karen admitted, “We regularly ordered from them. Their smell hovered throughout the town like a giant cloud of fog."

"I'd die of a sugar overdose if I went there," Matt smirked.

"Maybe," she said, wistfully, “It's one of many things I miss from Vermont. I also miss the skiing."

His brows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, “My mom was the more avid skier between my parents. We had a ski hill in town, but it was rarely open due to…management difficulties and lack of snowmaking, so we always had to drive elsewhere on the weekends. Killington was close. Sometimes we’d go to Okemo, a half hour further down the road. Occasionally we went to Mount Snow.”

“Sounds like it must’ve been a lot of fun,” Matt murmured.

“It was,” Karen agreed, “I think you’d love it. Or would that be too much for your senses?”

Matt made a face. “Foggy’s told me there’s areas upstate where you blind people can be tethered to a guide who leads them down, and uh…I’d like a little more freedom than that.”

Karen giggled. “Ixnay on the i-skay?”

“Where did you learn Pig Latin?”

“Same place everyone does,” she said, smiling faintly. “The three of us had an awful lot of fun whenever we out to the slopes. I think it was the one thing that kept mom from dying of small town boredom. It made her happy.” With a sad look on her face, she said “…Well, as happy as you can be in a town like Fagan Corners.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sadly. “It sounds like your mom was a lovely woman.”

“She was,” Karen exhaled. “She also really hated the town. If not for the cancer, she'd have moved us to this place called Breckenridge in Colorado, and she’d take up ski instructing there. Dad would probably end up managing a new diner off Highway 9.” _Until he’d run that into the ground, too._  

A weird thought struck her. Matt had never so much as mentioned his mother once in conversation, like she didn’t exist. “What about your mom? What was she like? You’ve never mentioned her once.”

“I…” Matt trailed off. He struggled to remember anything about his mother. “I don’t really know. It was just me and Dad growing up. He never really talked about her at all. And then when he died, I was taken in by St. Agnes.”

“You ever try to find out where she went?” Karen asked, hopefully.

Matt shrugged. “I’d like to think she’s probably out there, watching over me…from a distance,” he answered. “If so, I’d like to know why she never reached out when Dad died.”

They continued walking. They were almost to Ninth Avenue.

“So…” Karen hesitated … “You’ve never left New York City?”

“No. I’ve considered it,”  Matt said, sheepishly, “I mean, I once dabbled at the idea of running away with Elektra a few times while we were fighting the Hand. But that never came to be.”

“I get it,” Karen turned her head away from Matt, “You thought you’d made a mess of everything in your personal life. I’d actually be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that sometimes fantasized about running away from Fagan Corners with Todd before, well…” she trailed off. _Before Kevin._ She cleared her throat. “What kept you from leaving?”

“You,” he said, “And this city. I love you, Karen. There’s not a lot of things that I wouldn’t do for you. I- I know you probably know that, but it’s worth repeating.”

He froze, realizing what he just said. They had only been together three days, and he'd just let that slip.

Karen couldn't help but feel tears in her eyes, tears of joy. “You do?” she whispered.

Matt couldn't help but lean in and touch his forehead to hers.

“More than anything in the city.”

She smiled. “Me too”, she said and she put her arms around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss.

They broke the kiss when another pedestrian nearly ran into Matt and yelled at them for standing in the sidewalk, which snapped them back to reality. They resumed walking towards the restaurant.

“As we were discussing, I don't think it would hurt to get out into the country once in a while," Karen said.

"I don't know," Matt said doubtfully. "I’m so used to the smells and sounds of the city filling my head 24 hours a day. “It’s kinda hard to get an idea of what’s around me when there’s nothing to hear.”

Karen made a wavy motion with her free hand. "Not as much as you’d think.  You’d probably go insane listening to crickets chirping and bugs buzzing," she said, remembering some of the hiking trips she used to go on. “You’re missing out, Matt.”

"I’m not," Matt smirked, “There’s no place I’d rather be than with you.”

"Oh, come on, Matt!" Karen was a little dumbfounded by the idea that Matt had never left New York City limits. Then again, there were probably tens of thousands of others just like him. "We can rent a car and drive upstate on the Thruway for a few hours. There’s lots of good hiking trails in the Catskills."

"I don't know. Maybe once we put Fisk away," Matt said, his tone belying that he didn’t really seem too thrilled by the idea. “Or once crime in Hell’s Kitchen decides to take a few weeks off. Which it won’t.”

"I’m sure the others in the city would love to take over for you,” Karen said. “Just send Luke or Jessica, or Danny a text asking them to check in.”

Matt shook his head and laughed. “Luke’s got Harlem to deal with. And I think Danny has Lower Manhattan covered. I don’t know where Jessica fits in.”

She laughed. “She’s a private investigator,” she said, “I think she’s more ‘whatever I come across anywhere in town.’”

“Right…” Matt said. Something funny occurred to him. He remembered reading Jessica’s background files when Foggy had first referred her case to him. There were a few details about Jessica’s life that seemed very much like Karen. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Karen asked.

Matt bit his tongue. “Oh, nothing,” he said, “I think you and Jessica would make great friends. You’re both so much alike."

Karen blushed. "What, because we both have teamed up with you to investigate criminal syndicates?” she chuckled.

“No,” Matt laughed, “But you’ve got such similar checkered pasts.”

Karen looked at him blankly.

“I don’t follow,” she said.

“Think about it, Karen,” he insisted, “You lost your brother in a car accident. So did Jessica. You both had boyfriends who were engaged in illegal activities.”

Karen made a face. “I never got experimented on in an illegal medical operation,” she said.

“True,” Matt turned his head away from her, “But you’re both good private investigators. And you’ve both killed two people apiece.”

 _Okay, that’s getting into really uncomfortable territory._ “All right, I get the private investigation comparison, but…” she trailed off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the whole killing thing….”  Matt winced.

* * *

They continued like this the rest of the way to the Bella Vita, located on the ground floor of 1501 Broadway, across the street from the Victory Theatre’s loading dock. Within minutes, they were seated at a table for a three in the middle of the restaurant. Marci was already there and checking her phone.

“Hey,” she said, breaking into a smile as Matt and Karen sat down. “That was quick.”

“I told you, we just got off the subway,” Karen said.

“No delays of any kind?”

"2 train's not in any state of emergency," Matt replied.

Their waitress was a middle-aged woman named Fran in her 40s, with her long dark hair in a ponytail. She placed the menus on the table, looked from Matt to Karen to Marci, expectantly, then heaved a sigh.

"I'll be back with some waters in a moment," she said enthusiastically.

Her gaze lingered on Matt as she spoke. He could hear her breath hitch and smiled politely at her.  He gave her an easy, charming smile in return.

"Thanks, Fran," Matt said, his tone far more amiable than Karen had heard it all day. "We'll be sure to let you know if we have any questions."

Karen narrowed her eyes at Matt as the waitress walked away. She was used to seeing him smirking, or the shit-eating grin he usually sported when he was getting lovey-dovey with her. This was that kind of smile.

She shook her head, dismissing whatever dirty thoughts she was exhibiting, and focused her attention on their surroundings

"You know you’re missing out on some very stunning visuals here," Karen commented, staring at the ceiling.

Matt smirked, leaning back in his seat.

"Describe it to me."

"Oh, well there’s lots of pretty lights on the ceiling,” she said, “And all the various flags of the world.”

“A bit of a tour of the world,” Marci added.

Karen turned her attention to the menu. _I’ve suddenly got a pizza craving. Large thin pepperoni sounds good. Maybe split with someone._  “Want to split a pizza, Matt?” she offered, “Maybe a large pepperoni?”

“You’re going with something so simple?” Matt smirked. “I thought you’d be more adventurous, Miss Page.”

“I like to keep things simple,” Karen said, defensively. “Plus I know I won’t be able to eat a full pizza.”

“You better watch out, Karebear, I think he’s gonna take the lion’s share!” Marci teased.

Matt just laughed at this. Karen couldn’t help but laugh too. _Uh, yeah, I know Matt must have to eat a lot to stay in shape, but he’s not greedy._

“That sounds fine…” Matt said. “You know, the off-duty cop near the door seems to have gotten the same idea right now.” Karen turned in her seat, craning her neck as she examined the uniformed cop who was near the door having lunch with a woman she took to be his girlfriend. He could hear the sound of the cop’s radio chatter, and the sound of plastic on flesh as he adjusted his belt

Marci gave Matt an incredulous look. She shook her head. “I will never ask how you know shit like that."

Matt couldn't stop himself from grinning a little at that.

“Dare I ask if these senses of yours affect your tastes in wine?” Marci asked.

“Uh,” Matt shook his head. _I’m not able to pick wines off a menu I can’t read._ “No, but they do make it hard to read the menu." He picked up the sheet containing the wine listings.

"You know Foggy made it seem like you can read printed text, " Marci said, shooting a look of disappointment at him.

“Not when it’s laminated and smooth,” Matt said.

Karen looked up at him. Maybe it was the anxiety of what was going on with Foggy and with Fisk, but she couldn't help but laugh at the annoyed look Matt was casting towards Marci. Oh, Matt was such a man of complexities. How could this man who took on hardened inmates in a prison riot yesterday, and defeat centuries-old ninjas, be simultaneously a bad liar and be stifled by laminated paper? Marci couldn’t help but laugh along with Karen. Somehow, there were always going to be new things to learn about Matt Murdock every day.

"What?" Matt asked, raising his eyebrows at both women.

"Nothing," Karen said, putting a hand to her mouth, not that that mattered much to Matt. "Nothing, just—I never realized the makers of laminated paper were more evil than Fisk."

“Or even worse, Wilson Fisk using laminated paper on all of the documents in his paper trail,” Marci said, grinning.

 _Honestly, though, that would be cruel if Fisk really wants to toy with me like that. Given what he knows._ Matt couldn't help but burst out into uncontrollable laughter alongside Marci.

They were so busy laughing that they almost didn’t catch their waitress setting their waters down.

"You folks need a minute?" she asked, uncertainly.

"I think we’ve decided on what we want to eat," Matt addressed the waitress, nodding in Karen’s direction, before adopting a serious tone. "Not so decisive about our wine preferences. Not when my friends are busy mocking me for being unable to read this fine piece of laminated parchment."

The waitress gave Karen and Marci dirty looks, and both quickly ceased laughing.

"Even if I could read, I don’t know much about wine,” Matt said, “So maybe you could help out?”

Fran politely leaned over Matt's shoulder and discussed her personal recommendations with him. Karen couldn’t help but be intrigued by how clear she was trying to flirt with him and possibly slip him her card. She almost looked like she was teaching him how to play golf. _Or billiards. Was it really that long ago that I “taught” Matt how to play on the table at Josie's?_

But that was how Matt, Karen and Marci ended up with a bottle of _grignolino_ at the table, with Matt and Karen splitting a large pepperoni, while Marci got a large margherita with mushrooms and olives.

Matt still had a hint of a smirk on his face when the waitress left to take their order to the kitchen.

"Yeah, maybe that was a little harsh," Marci told Karen.

"Says the woman who acts like Regina George if she became a lawyer,” Karen said.  Marci just smiled at this and traced her water glass with her finger.

Karen glanced towards the partition into the kitchen, where she could see their waitress animatedly recapping the exchange to some of her coworkers. Turning her attention back to Matt, Karen shot him a look that she hoped he noticed.

"Our waitress probably thinks I’m an asshole," she whispered.

"No you were just being kind," Matt said.

"I'm starting to regret being around you two," Marci informed them.

Matt laughed, sporting a wicked grin that looked pretty out of place given the ongoing situation they were dealing with, the one they were trying to avoid discussing.

Despite her fears for Foggy’s and Matt's wellbeing, Marci couldn’t help but smile as well. She felt more normal than she had since the news of Fisk’s release had broken on Monday night. This was almost—almost—something that ordinary people did, going out to lunch with friends. Ordinary people didn’t have to deal with a crimelord intent on destroy her boyfriend’s reputation and career. At the end of the day, most people just didn’t really care about Wilson Fisk or the crimes he’d committed. Except for the people who lost families to the bombings, the families of the cops that got shot, most of the public just couldn’t give two shits. It was just something to talk about at bars, something to pretend they had a right to talk about under the first amendment. Wilson Fisk hadn’t taken anything of value from them.

Marci’s need to hang onto that levity was probably why she carefully avoided steering the conversation towards anything regarding Fisk, and to her relief Matt didn't bring them up either. She held off on mentioning her meeting with Nadeem; she wanted to wait until she had some answers from Matt and Karen as to what kind of witness they had found.

“That’s the second waitress who’s flirted with you in two days,” Karen observed, remembering the reaction of the waitress at the A-Train Diner while they were waiting for Silvio Manfredi to show up. “Seriously, Matt, you’re like catnip to restaurant waitresses.”

“Oh, I remember,” Matt shrugged, “I also remember attacking three men and then shielding you from bullets.”

"You ever consider calling one of them up?" Marci asked casually.

"No."

"Good, ‘cause I would be worried if you said yes,” Karen said, and for a split second he could have sworn she sounded relieved, but he must have imagined it. "It wouldn’t be surprising, though.”

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," she said innocently. Matt said nothing, and his mouth widened to a big grin, the one he made when he knew she was hiding something. She relented, leaning forward over the table as she said, "You know, when I was having dinner with Foggy and Elena, before the bombings, he told me that you were usually a big hit with the ladies."

Now it was Marci's eyebrows that went up. "Did he?"

"Uh huh. And obviously I thought he was…well...exaggerating a little bit."

"Obviously."

"But you are…one of a kind, Matt. I don’t know you have this impact on people."

“It's the wounded duck principle,” Marci said, "Women are just drawn to disabled people, especially ones who are so handsome like you, Matt."

Karen shrugged, sipping at her wine glass. "I'd be drawn to Matt without the blindness. It's funny what happens when your boyfriend ends up being the lawyer who got you out of custody.”

She looked to Matt, her voice getting emotional. “I will always remember what it was like, being in that room at the precinct, not knowing whether or not I'd get a guardian angel who could get me out of that bad situation. And then you showed up."  She became a bit more animated as she continued. “I was reluctant to trust you. Reluctant to tell you the whole story. But you believed me, when practically everyone else--even Foggy--wanted to write me off. And you said you believed me. It hit me in that moment that you were the good ones, and not bad guys trying to get their hands on what I knew.”

Matt put his hand over hers. "All you did was just tell the truth,” he said.

“But you couldn’t have known it was the truth, not with all the evidence against me," she replied.

“Your heartbeat,” Matt responded, hesitantly. "And the evidence never made sense anyways. It couldn't have been a coincidence that the cops showed up when they did and caught you holding that knife." He shook his head, and smiled. “...they had to have been sent in advance. And of course, once that guard tried to kill you, it became more and more obvious that you were being targeted. And then one thing led to another-”

“And now you get the honor of being Daredevil’s girlfriend,” Marci added. _Can't be easy dating a superhero._ “How do you even tolerate that?”

  
“It just feels right,” Karen said. She laughed nervously. “I mean, Matt’s not perfect, but he’s actually better than the first serious boyfriend I ever had.”

“Ooh, do tell...” Marci said, like a gossip hen. “Who was he?”

Karen bit her tongue. _Marci nor Foggy know about Todd._ “He was a drug dealer,” she admitted, sheepishly, “Got me selling drugs alongside him to bored college kids, and…” she took a deep breath. “…there’s a lot I’d rather not talk about, but I ended up having to shoot him in self-defense.”

“That sounds awful,” she responded, taken aback. She turned to Matt. “But I’m really not surprised you’d fall for her, either, Murdock.”

“Right, because I always show poor judgment when it comes to beautiful women,” he said, his smile growing wider as he clasped Karen’s hand.

Karen clamped down her feelings of arousal.

“To be fair,” Marci countered, “That’s because your taste in women is somewhat questionable.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, Marci?” Karen teased. “You’ve worked for soulless assholes.”

Marci didn't think Karen's remark was worth responding to. “It’s just the way your brain is wired, right? Anytime an attractive woman enters the room, you can’t think of anything else.”

“You’ve resisted my charms,” Matt smiled. “Others, not so much.” Karen thought she could detect a certain bitterness in his voice, and she remembered what he’d said about Elektra.

“You don’t mean…?” Karen asked gently, taking his hand.

Matt shrugged, and said nothing. But his fingers still curled around hers.

“Okay, in your defense, I’ll admit, they weren’t all terrible, right?” Marci asked. “I mean, you remember Kirsten McDuffie from our moot court team? She was nice.”

“Kirsten,” said Matt, nodding.  _I remember her._ “Yeah, she was nice. We had some good times. Just…it didn’t work out.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s right,” Marci said.

“I mean, she was nice. And I know she wants to help people. But after two months, it just…” he shrugged. “It just didn’t pan out. It felt like she wanted to look after me a little more than I would’ve liked. Also, I think we had a few too many disagreements about the spirit vs. the letter of the law.”

Karen made a face. “Yeah, I can see that being a turn-off." She paused. "Was she acting with the best of intentions or was she one of those people who wants to paint themselves as selfless and caring to make themselves look better? Because I’ve met people like that, and they tend to be assholes when no one’s looking.”

“Good intentioned,” Matt said, a little grimly. “No, Kirsten meant well. She just…” he trailed off.

“She probably just underestimated your abilities as a blind person,” Marci finished. “But she was definitely beautiful, not unlike Karebear here. I still keep in touch with her, and I swear, with her looks, she’s more suited to modeling than to lawyering.”

“She was one of the longer lasting ones,” Matt agreed. To Karen he added, “We dated for three months.”

“Certainly it was a better fling than _Elektra_ ,” Marci interjected, a foul taste in her mouth.

Matt jolted a bit in his seat. Though Marci had met Elektra on a few occasions, she hadn’t been privy to what was going on when Matt was dating her, so she could only form an opinion based on whatever Foggy had told her after the fact. And Foggy hadn't had the highest opinion of Elektra so that would've colored whatever he disclosed to Marci.

“Yeah, Matt’s told me all about her,” Karen said.

“Let’s not go there, Marci,” Matt said, cautiously.

“You were so involved with her that you almost failed out of our 2L class on torts,” Marci said, a hint of venom in her voice. “And you did some strange shit with her, from my understanding.”

“There was some breaking and entering,” he digressed.

“And car theft," Marci added.

“And attempted murder.”

Marci narrowed her eyes. “Attempted murder?”

“You don’t want to know.”

* * *

Their pizzas eventually arrived, served on elevated platters positioned in the middle of the round table. Marci, Karen and Matt both distractedly thanked her before she left.

In between regular check-ins from their waitress, the conversation flowed shockingly well. Karen hadn't really given much thought to going out to lunch with Marci, beyond a desire to get a little bit of bonding time away from Foggy. It gave them a chance to even just briefly discuss some subjects not related to Foggy, to Fisk, or to crime.

"...So Ellison’s inviting you to go see _Frozen_ with him and his wife when it opens next month?" Marci asked in disbelief.

"Yes, of course! Are you telling me you _wouldn't_ go see _Frozen_ on Broadway?" Karen said, scandalized.

" _No!_ What is _wrong_ with you?" Marci said, laughing. "The movie is just fine! It doesn’t need any changes."

"I hear the musical might improve on some things the movie couldn’t do in a 95 minute run time!"

"Oh please!" Marci accused, pointing her finger at Karen. “When that movie came out, none of my friends could go a week without someone singing ‘Let It Go’!”

Karen's shoulders were shaking hard as she and Matt laughed, and Marci tried to defend herself.

"Marci, you would be a perfect Elsa!" Karen insisted, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Your hair’s the right color! And I’m telling you, you’d rock a sky blue dress made of ice!”

“I’m trying hard not to imagine that,” Matt said, with a mischievous look on his face.

“Tell me what they’ve changed from the original movie,” Marci said, her laughter subsiding.

Karen took a glance at the slice of pizza in her hands. “Well, you’re not hearing it directly from me,” she warned, “One of my colleagues at the _Bulletin_ , Jeff, he was in Denver for the holidays and he saw the tryouts. Told me all about it.”

“And?”

“Well for starters, there’s more songs,” Karen said, recalling what Jeff had said to her over lunch, “Apparently Kristoff has this duet with Anna in the first act, and a couple other pieces. Beats what they had in the movie with his little dittie about reindeer.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Marci said.

“Hans has a few songs too,” Karen continued, “Oh, and there’s this very impressive lighting effect they to do give Elsa her ice dress in ‘Let It Go.’ I’d find a bootleg video of it, but I don’t think anyone wants to run afoul of copyright.”

“Yeah, pesky copyright,” Matt said, indignantly.

“But the best part, at least according to him, is the Oaken scene,” Karen said.

“Hoo-hoo! Big summer blowout!” Marci did her best imitation of Oaken’s comical accent.

“He has _a song_ ,” Karen smiled, “A whole song and dance number. With a chorus line of nude sauna dancers who sing about _hygge_! Can you believe that?!”

Matt and Marci laughed. “Thank god I’m blind,” Matt said, tears coming out of his eyes.

"It's from the same people who wrote 'Hasa Diga Eebowai'," Karen clarified.

"Somewhere Father Lantom is being offended by you cursing at God," Matt said, jokingly.

“...And now it’s coming here to New York. Previews begin in about two or three weeks.”

“Where?” Matt asked.

“The St. James Theatre a block above us on 44th,” she answered. “Hey y'know, I’m thinking, now that you're back, Matt, I'm going to persuade Ellison to give me an extra ticket to let you come with me." She grinned at Matt.

“I’ll be happy to be your plus one, Miss Page,” he laughed.

 “Not to be offensive, but, how exactly would you be able to, y’know, see a play, Matt?” Marci asked.

“They have descriptive audio sets,” Matt said, dismissively waving at her, “Or I can just let Karen narrate for me. In fact, that would be my preferential choice. I love the sound of her voice.”

Karen blushed, remembering the first time Matt had used _that_ pickup line on her. It had been during that first meeting with Elena, when she was trying to translate Elena’s Spanish and he stepped in to translate a word her high school-level Spanish didn’t quite get.

“Either that, or Foggy’s commentary,” he added as a side remark. He always loved Foggy’s humorous commentaries whenever they watched movies or TV shows in law school. It beat the monotonous voices of most descriptive audio tracks, and he usually added details that they missed. Foggy really livened up any episodes of _Law & Order_ and its many spinoffs.

“I say this, _Frozen_ is arguably one of those features I can actually relate to,” Marci said, “I always saw a bit of myself in Anna.”

“Nah, you’re more of an Elsa,” Karen said, apologetically, “And so are you, Matt. You know, it just me…watching her wall herself off from her sister. Seems so much like you.”

“I don’t have ice magic, Karen,” Matt replied, dryly.

“Yeah, but when you say you’re doing it to protect me and Foggy?” she asked, pointedly. “I feel like I'm your Anna.”

Matt sighed. _Lost that one._

They resumed talking, continuing to distract themselves from the elephant in the room. True to Marci’s prediction, Matt and Karen did succeed in devouring their split pizza, while Marci had half of hers boxed up to take home as leftovers.

Being that this was kinda like a date, Matt insisted on staying for dessert. He and Karen ended up splitting a tiramisu. Karen was generous enough to offer a couple bites to Marci, who ordered a cannoli.

“You know, Kirsten’s now working in the DA’s office,” Marci commented, as she dug into her cannoli.

“She is, huh?” Matt asked. “I’m surprised none of our cases from Nelson & Murdock ever got prosecuted by her.”

“She was only brought on as an ADA after Tower became DA,” Marci said, wistfully. “Before that, she was doing associate work at Zane Spector & Litt.”

Matt made a face. “Thank god we avoided that firm,” he said, “That’s the one that had the non-lawyer who pretended to be a Harvard grad, and got themselves open to a lot of malpractice lawsuits. Back when they were Pearson Spector & Litt.”

“Such a blatant unauthorized practice of law, and fraud,” Marci mused, “How Harvey Spector avoided disbarment, I will never know.”

“Well I’d like to meet her at some point,” Karen chimed in.

Marci glanced at her fingers. “I’ll tell her you said that when I meet her tonight,” she said, “I’m hoping to maybe get some insider information about Tower and, well...Fisk.”

The perky, sarcastic, alpha-bitch demeanor disappeared from Marci's voice, and Matt knew she was thinking of how she’d reacted when Karen had called her earlier. It still angered Matt that Fisk had chosen to take his revenge out on Foggy, rather than on the man he’d figured out was Daredevil. Fisk had been right, when he said on the radio that night, that life was not a fairy tale; in the end, the beating Matt had given him in that alley had simply hardened Fisk’s resolve. Resolved him to the point he was willing to play the FBI like his personal fiddle to get an early release. To go after those who aided Matt in putting him away.

“You all right?” he asked Marci.

"Nadeem came by the office not long after you called me," Marci said softly, addressing Karen. The announcement would have seemed out of left field had Matt not been able to tell she had been holding back about that all meal. _Thanks for warning me, Karen._

Karen nodded. "I figured he might. You weren’t at home, so logically, your office would be the next best step."

“What did he say to you?” Matt asked.

"He uh…well he asked me about your firm’s breakup," Marci said. Matt remained silent, waiting for her to continue. There was an edge to her voice, an anger bubbling just below the carefully controlled calm she was trying to project to everyone around them. "He…" she swallowed. "...he wanted to determine if I knew the details of why you and Foggy split. I told him with a straight face that I didn’t."

Matt blinked in surprise.

"He thinks our firm’s breakup had to do with Fisk?" he asked. _Indirectly it might've been, given who told Frank to blow up on the stand. But that'd leave no paper trail._

"Yeah. He…really seemed convinced that Foggy is crooked and does shit for Fisk, like you said. And that's why you left him, not the other way around."

 _That's what he implied when he questioned me, too._ “We all know it was because of your unreliability during the Castle trial,” Karen said.

“I know that,” Marci replied, sounding a little irritated. “And just for the record, I’m surprised you avoided a malpractice lawsuit there, Matt.”

“Castle would never sue,” Matt got defensive, “He’s not that kind of person.” _And he's not in New York anymore, I think._

“Fisk seems to have Nadeem convinced that you and Foggy split for other reasons,” Marci said. “That it was Foggy who was the one at fault. Not you.”

Matt and Karen both scowled. “That’s just bullshit,” Matt said, “I think Fisk just wants to keep Foggy’s campaign from getting too far.”

“I’m convinced Fisk has bribed Nadeem,” Karen snorted. “He has to! And possibly a few other agents.”

“Hmm, can’t say I don’t agree with that,” Marci said, twirling a finger in her empty wine glass.

Matt and Karen leaned in. _What sort of leverage does Fisk have over Nadeem?_ “What did you find?” Matt asked.

“His sister-in-law contracted lung cancer about three years ago,” Marci explained, recalling what she saw in the _Bugle_ article, “She recently made a full recovery, but…according to the _Bugle,_ he’s gone deeply into debt paying for her coverage because of denied insurance claims. I don’t know about you, Matt, but I think that’s motive enough.”

“Fisk offered to pay off Nadeem's debt in exchange for Nadeem getting him out?” Karen theorized.

“That’s a nice way of summing it up,” Marci answered.

Matt thought about this for a moment. "I believe that _could_ explain why a decorated FBI agent would make such a one-sided deal,” he said. He nudged his head towards Karen. “We've fought insurance companies in court before. And Foggy and I had to defend some of them when we were interning at L&Z."

"I know which ones you're referring to," Marci grumbled.

"...so I've gotten to know what sorts of conditions these policies tend to cover or not cover, and the typical costs of co-pay. And with something like lung cancer, well, even when the insurance provider pays a significant part of the bills, the co-pay from doctors’ visits can be... prohibitive, and quickly add up. Sometimes, depending on the policy and what the exclusions might or might not exist and whether the underwriters are having a good day or not, it’s not even covered at all. And some are just uninsurable. Obviously, without seeing the Nadeems’ coverage, I can't comment further. But if Fisk offered to get him out of debt, provided Nadeem did his bidding for him..." He nodded slowly. "It does make sense."

"Maybe he even drove Nadeem into debt in the first place," Karen posited.

“Would that extend to going after Fisk’s enemies, like us?” Marci said, voice barely above a whisper.

Bringing Foggy into the equation took some of energy out of Matt.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly, "About Foggy."

Marci nodded, but wilted slightly in a way she often did whenever coworkers brought up her past work at Landman & Zack.

"I’m just doing anything I can to help him,” Marci complained, “I want Fisk locked up as much as everyone else. And I don’t want the stain of L&Z to follow me around forever."

She wasn't saying it explicitly, but Matt knew what Marci was talking about. She was referring to the possibility of having her own reputation dragged through the mud if Fisk decided to go after them with his connections to the press.

Karen decided that she needed to let Marci understand just what they were dealing with with Fisk. Her experience with Wesley had happened at at time when she didn't completely comprehend what Fisk was capable of, and she didn't want Marci to have a similar fate.

"If we’re going to get Foggy off the hook for this, Marci, we’re going to need to be careful,” Karen said, slowly, “Fisk is unstable. If he gets wind that you pose any sort of threat to him or his loved ones…he’ll go after you. He's already going after Foggy, and after Matt, and hell, me and you. If you’re not careful, it’ll be your parents, and your friends who will die for you.”

“I know,” Marci said, voice quivering slightly.

“No, Marci, you _don’t_ ,” Karen said, sounding strained. She took a deep breath. It’d taken a lot of courage to tell Matt about what had happened with Wesley. Disclosing this to Foggy’s girlfriend, and not to Foggy himself? It just didn’t seem right. But Marci had always said she didn’t have interest in Matt and Foggy’s personal drama, so she’d existed on the periphery of their investigation, not deep in the thick of things. Besides, Foggy had enough problems of his own and having to learn that Karen killed Fisk’s right hand was not another thing she wanted to burden him with. _I'll tell him, once Fisk is put away again._

Matt could hear her heartbeat pumping and perspiration on her skin and realized exactly what she was going to say, but a moment too late to stop her from saying it.

“I did something bad,” she said, voice unusually steady, “I don’t think Fisk knows I did it, but when he finds out, he’ll want to kill me.”

“What do you mean?”

Matt put a hand on Karen’s and squeezed it. He said, “Karen, do you really want to tell her?”

“She has to know, Matt,” she whispered, “She has to.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Marci asked.

Karen took a deep breath and forged ahead resolutely. “When I was working with Ben Urich, we discovered a big secret that Fisk did not want anybody to know about,” she said, “He claimed his mother died in 1974, but in reality, she was still alive and being housed in a nursing home upstate. She’s dead for real now, she died last year, but that’s not the point—anyways, she told us that when Fisk was 12, he beat his own father to death with a hammer. Then they cut the body up with a chainsaw and disposed of it.”

“Sheesh,” Marci rubbed her forehead. _How troubled could someone like Wilson Fisk be if he was engaging in violence before he hit puberty?_ “That’s what you think he’ll go after you for?”

“Well he's killed a few others for knowing it,” Karen said, referring to the mafiosos Fisk had had killed including Manfredi.  She exhaled. “But it wasn't that, Marci. One of his men found out I’d been there. His name was James Wesley.” Marci’s face blanched a bit at the mention of Wesley’s name. She'd seen Wesley on a few occasions interacting with Landman, and he just gave her the creeps, even though they'd never so much as interacted. “He drugged me, took me to a warehouse by Pier 81, and threatened to kill Foggy, Matt—everyone else I’ve ever cared about, if I didn’t lie and say Fisk was a good man.” She paused to take a big deep breath. Even with confiding the truth to Matt, that didn’t make recounting it again any easier. “He made me feel like...like I was back in Vermont. He put a gun on the table to—to scare me. But then Fisk called his phone. He went to answer it, and I grabbed the gun. He tried to bluff me, but I called it, and I shot him. Seven times.”

In the silence that ensued, Matt could hear Marci’s heartbeat; it was pounding worse than Karen’s own heartbeat had been when she’d confided in him. Terrified. Marci had never had to deal with this sort of thing on a day to day basis. Hopefully she grasped the gravity of the situation. Just what Fisk would do to protect his secrets.

“My god, I’m…I’m so sorry, Karen,” she stammered, “I—I didn’t know.” She looked to Matt. "Did you know anything about this?"

“Since Tuesday night," Matt said, quietly.

“You’re sure Fisk doesn’t know? About Wesley?” Marci now sounded concerned.

“He knows. I heard he beat one of his bodyguards up when they found the body,” Matt said.

Karen shook her head. “He doesn't know I'm behind the shooting. Wesley said he acted of his own volition, and Fisk had no idea he was there. After I shot him, I wiped down the table and the gun, and threw the gun into the Hudson,” she said. She exhaled. “I couldn’t take a chance that his guys on the force might match fingerprints to me, given the Union Allied thing.”

“You ever wish you did something different? You can’t have made it out of something like that unscathed.”

“Marci, Fisk doesn’t. Make. Empty. Threats. There were no better options.”

There was a momentary silence. The restaurant suddenly felt a little stuffy and claustrophobic, as if suddenly they were in a crowded subway car at rush hour. Matt really wanted to formulate a game plan with Karen and Marci to nab Fisk, but he didn’t want to do so in a public place where Fisk could have eyes watching them, or people could overhear them. Fortunately, he realized that his and Karen’s apartment was just a few blocks away. It would suffice as a good place to discuss the case.

“...so what can we do?" Marci asked. "I helped you guys put him away, and it's done jackshit nothing. What we can we do to convince the FBI that we're not the bad guys?”

“We build a case that he's engaged in a criminal conspiracy,” Matt said. "Karen runs it all in the  _Bulletin_ , Fisk gets exposed, and at minimum, the FBI leaves us all alone, and Fisk takes a step back. At best, they send him back to prison." That was what he and Karen had intended, but clearly, it was not enough. Fisk was coming after them by abusing the legal system that was supposed to keep felons like him locked up, so they needed something big to counter that. Probably more than just Jasper Evans and whatever crimelords Fisk was beginning to get cozy with.

"And if it doesn't lock him back up?"

"We'll destroy his reputation," Karen replied, "Bring so much shit down on him that he'll be cleaning it out of his ass for the rest of his days."

Marci looked at her nails. Her lips curved up into a vicious smile. "I can work with that. Do we have a witness?"

"We have one. But..." It occurred to Matt that Marci had never been to his place. "...I think we should take this back to my apartment. If that's okay with you?"

"Anything for me, Mr. Murdock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--If you're wondering why Dex's hometown is Portsmouth, New Hampshire, that's actually printed on one of the files Fisk reads before we segue into the stageplay. (I think that was an intentional choice by the writers, given that Wilson Bethel also is from New Hampshire, albeit from Hillsborough instead of Portsmouth)
> 
> \--I'm being a little approximate when it comes to the dates in Dex's backstory. 
> 
> \--Bella Vita is a real place on 43rd Street, in the building that used to be the Paramount Theatre.


	15. Blackmailing the Butcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt, Karen and Marci formulate a plan for exonerating Foggy. Meanwhile, Foggy learns that Fisk's plans for him hit much closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made the decision just now to adjust my cover art to something a little narrower and also make it into a header for all my chapters.

**The Presidential Hotel:**

Dex sat at the bar in the Presidential Hotel’s restaurant, lost in thought. This seemingly stable and orderly job had suddenly been thrown into chaos in the course of just the last few days. Between OPR investigating him, Fisk covering for him and playing mind games on him, it was a bit much. He really was desperate for a drink, and some lunch. He wished Nadeem could be right here, lending him moral support. But alas, Nadeem got to be out there, pursuing those lawyers who allegedly worked for Fisk in the past, and Dex was stuck here on bodyguard duty.

Not that Dex didn’t mind coming down to the bar. The ornate marble surroundings were much less stuffy than the FBI’s nest upstairs outside Fisk’s penthouse. It gave him room to think about other things on his mind. Like the dark-haired blind man and gorgeous blonde woman he’d stopped by the elevators the other day. He was pretty sure he’d seen the blonde woman’s face before. She looked like someone he’d seen on TV a couple times. _I think she’s some kind of…reporter or something? Starts with a ‘K’-sound, I believe? I dunno, I wasn’t really paying attention._ And the blind man, he hadn’t recognized him at all. All Dex knew was something was strange about the couple. The way they fumbled through their pockets when he asked to see their room keys and couldn’t find them. This was just minutes before some guy in a black mask attacked Fisk’s lawyer Ben Donovan in the parking garage downstairs, and beat the shit out of about a half-dozen agents before fleeing the scene. Donovan had claimed his attacker was an Albanian, and Dex actually entertained the idea that the couple he’d stopped were the masked man’s accomplices. Little did he know how accurate that conclusion was, but not for the line of logic that led him there.

Thinking about that also allowed him to think more about the OPR investigation. Even with Fisk lying for him, and with Nadeem likely putting in a good word, he couldn’t bear to imagine that he could be suspended for saving his colleagues’ lives. _I know that was probably not by the book, but it was them or us.  
_

He was so lost in thought, helped by the ethereal sound of someone playing on the grand piano, that he didn’t hear the waitress coming over to his table.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” a voice asked.

Dex looked left and he froze up, like he was seeing a ghost. Those familiar cheekbones. Her dark red hair, pulled back in a ponytail, thick bangs over her eyes, and smiling widely.   _Julie?_ It was Julie all right, dressed in a waitress’s uniform. _Since when did Julie start working here at the Presidential? I've been following her for months, and I'm pretty sure she works at Happy Days Diner in Brooklyn.  
_

He was so stunned and startled by Julie’s appearance, that he momentarily forgot how to speak. How did one begin such a conversation? _“Hi, I’m Dex, your former coworker from the hotline. And by the way, I’ve been spying on you every night?”_

Julie’s smile faded slightly. She thought that he was just surprised by her approaching him and was still trying to decide on what he wanted to drink.

“Looks like you need a little more time,” she said, hesitantly, “I'll grab you a water.”

Dex turned his head away and looked down at his hands. Julie remained standing there. _Wait, that man looks familiar,_ she thought. With that double cleft chin and sandy hair, he reminded her of someone she’d worked at during her time at the suicide prevention center.  _It's_ _Dex! Or a spitting image of him.  
_

“This is gonna sound random, but did you used to work at the Brooklyn Suicide Hotline?” Julie asked, timidly.

Dex looked at her again, caught off guard by her response. _Damn, she still remembers me._ “Yeah,” he stammered, “Y-Yeah, I did. That was a tough job.” He chuckled softly.

“It was,” Julie agreed. _Talking down people who want to blow their own brains out, or swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills, it can be a bit much._ “You probably don't remember me. I'm Julie.” She extended her hand out for Dex to shake.

“Dex,” he said, stammering. He couldn’t help but shake her hand. “Yeah, of course I remember you!”

Julie’s smile broadened to a grin. “Small world, huh?” _We went our own ways ten years ago, and my first day waitressing here, I run into him. What a…strange coincidence._

Something about this didn’t sit right with Dex. He’d been here in the bar multiple times over the past few days. First when delivering Fisk to the nest on Monday night. Then that couple he’d stopped on Tuesday right before the parking garage assault. Then Wednesday afternoon after his chat with Nadeem in the hallway outside the penthouse. He’d seen several of the restaurant’s waitresses and not once had he encountered Julie in all that time. In the back of her head, he could hear Dr. Mercer’s voice telling him that this could be a setup. “I haven't seen you in here before,” Dex said.

“It's…it's my first day, actually,” Julie said, shyly. “I got offered double the pay to leave my last job if I could start here immediately. Not that I'm complaining.” _I can now catch up on my rent and utilities._

Dex blanched. One day after Fisk had started playing his little cat-and-mouse game on him, a woman he’d had a crush on just coincidentally started working at the hotel right out of the blue.  _Has to be his move._ Just what Fisk hoped to accomplish by arranging for Julie to be hired at the hotel, and in a job where she would see Dex, he had no idea.

There was a momentary silence as Julie couldn’t help but glance down at Dex’s suit. _He looks very handsome in that cheap suit. What has he gotten into these past ten years?_ “What about you?” she asked, shifting her feet, “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“No,” Dex hastened. _I couldn’t afford the room rates._ “I—I-I live here. In New York, not in the hotel.” He laughed, awkwardly. _I wish I lived here, though. Wait, did I really need to clarify I don't live here at the hotel?_ “The FBI has an office upstairs. We're guarding Wilson Fisk.”

“A G-man, huh,” Julie murmured. She’d heard a bit about Wilson Fisk. From what the _Bulletin_ reported, he was some big fish from the mafia who had cut a deal with the FBI and was under witness protection. _From talking down suicidal jumpers to guarding hardened criminals. That’s a big step up,_ she mused. She was interrupted from her ramblings when she heard a woman at a nearby table calling to her.

“Excuse me, miss! Hello?”

 _Shit, I’m still on duty. I think future employers might raise some eyebrows if they notice I got hired and fired on the same day._ “I need to go help that table so they don't fire me on my first day,” she said to Dex, apologetically.

She stepped past Dex in the direction of the couple who were trying to flag her down.

 _So long as I’m here, maybe we should actually go off and do something. Something better than me sitting in my car watching you._ “What time do you get off?” Dex asked, not bothering to look at her.

Julie stopped and looked back at him. “In about an hour,” she answered. _You’re asking me out on a date, Dex? That’s kinda unusual for you._ Part of her had missed Dex deeply. And she was eager to know what he’d been up to the last few years. “Do you wanna hang out after? Catch up?”

Dex’s cheeks flushed. As long as Julie was here, he might as well actually spend some proper time with her. Maybe she could offer him some advice; maybe she could help him find a job to tide him over if OPR decided to have him suspended for his actions in the motorcade attack and for make a false statement. “Uh, y-yeah,” he said, blabbering like a nervous schoolboy, “That-that'd be great.”

Julie smiled and walked away, acutely aware of Dex’s lingering gaze. Dex breathed a sigh of relief. _Still should check to be sure that this isn’t some sort of con Fisk is playing,_ Dex thought as he downed a shot of tequila, _Although…Dr. Mercer and I talked about this, me finding a girl and maybe settling down. Those were happy times._

"Dex."

Dex was snapped out of his thoughts as Nadeem entered the bar, ragged, sat down at the stool next to him, and ordered an Old Fashioned.

"Ray," he said, stiffly.

"You uh, holding up okay?" Nadeem asked, shifting from side to side.

Dex sighed. _As fine as anyone who's dealing with an internal investigation, plus running into an old colleague of mine, who probably was hired here by Fisk...somehow._ "It's hard," he admitted, "It's really hard." He took a deep breath.

"I know," Nadeem said, solemnly. "Look, if the worst happens and they decide to yank your badge, Dex, just know, as your friend, I will do everything I can to help you get your job back."

"You will?" Dex asked.

"Through and through," Nadeem nodded. "You'll get through this."

 _You seem to be the only other person besides Fisk who sees my actions as justified._ "You're just about the only person in the Bureau who backs me, Ray," he muttered. "Hattley seems to think the same thing as Agent Winn, that what happened Monday was out of line." 

"Forget about Hattley. This is technically my operation, seeing as I was the agent Fisk made that deal with." Nadeem bit his lip.

 _But you're just a regular field agent. Hattley's an SAC._ "Fisk seems to have my back too," Dex admitted. He declined to mention that he had turned off the cameras in the penthouse when he was having his one-on-one conversation with Fisk.

"He does?" Nadeem wasn't surprised. He'd read up on Fisk's charges and he was aware that Fisk had quite the admiration for people with exceptional talent. Supposedly that had been how he recruited a lot of the guys who formed his inner circle, like Owlsley and Wesley.

"Yeah." Dex took another shot of tequila. _I think we should shift to a more happier subject._ "How are you doing with looking into those lawyers that Fisk named to us this morning? Murdock and Nelson?"

Nadeem bit his lower lip.  _Karen Page and Marci Stahl are pretty tough-as-nails._ Having talked to Nelson's and Murdock's girlfriends, he decided it was now time to talk to the men themselves. He'd start with Matt Murdock. From what Fisk had described, Matt Murdock had the utmost contempt for Fisk and a much sturdier spine than Nelson.  Though at the same time, he was unnerved by Fisk's admission that he personally inflicted physical violence on a blind man for refusing to do his dirty work. Not that that should've surprised him. Fisk had been alleged to do lots of heinous things, from blow up buildings, shooting innocent cops; he even supposedly ordered an innocent old woman be murdered for refusing to move out of a tenement Fisk wanted to tear down and replace with condos (and he killed the junkie he'd hired for the job to keep it from being linked to him).

Still, Fisk was his cooperating witness who'd given him useful information on the Albanians. So he figured it was a given that when Fisk named those two lawyers as former associates of his, that the information was good. Although...he couldn't help but think about Page's and Stahl's reactions when he'd talked to them, and part of him was starting to wonder if maybe Fisk had ulterior motives at hand. "I, uh, gotta talk to that blind lawyer that Fisk alleged handled some of his off-book work. Murdock. And uh, seeing how uncooperative the lawyers' girlfriends are, I was wondering if you'd like to come help me out."

“I'm under investigation, Ray," Dex protested. "I'd prefer to keep a low profile."

"Dex." Nadeem took a big swig of his drink. "As your _friend_ , I say you deserve a few hours out of this place. And who knows, it could take your mind off what OPR is doing.”

It took Dex back to yesterday in the hallway outside Fisk's penthouse, annoyed at being dismissed from watching his little prank with the burger, looking at Ray, who for now seemed to be the only person in the FBI who was on his side. Something almost instinctual had made him trust Ray's words of reassurance.

"OK," Dex said, as Nadeem took another sip from his drink, "Where does Murdock live?"

* * *

**Hell's Kitchen:**

Matt’s apartment was only a short walk away from the Bella Vita restaurant. It was just two blocks over to Ninth Avenue, then just three blocks up to 46th Street, then west to an old converted warehouse halfway up the block.

Under much different circumstances, this could have been a rather exciting moment for Marci. She’d never set foot in Matt’s apartment ever until now and she was actually kinda curious as to how a blind man lived. _Wait, strike that._ Matt said Karen had moved into his place while he was recuperating from his injuries at Midland Circle and had taken up paying the bills.  Even though yes, they were here to discuss Fisk and what needed to happen to put Foggy in the clear, Marci could spare some time to study Matt’s apartment from head to toe.

As the three walked over, their footsteps leaving a pleasant crunch as they stepped through the snow that was beginning to stick to the sidewalks, Matt and Karen were as talkative as ever. But Marci was good at reading people, and she could sense the edge to their voices. Karen’s misery was more apparent, no matter how many metaphorical masks she put on. Marci could see the sort of toll Wesley’s death had taken on her. It couldn't be easy, taking a life, even the life of someone like the right-hand of Wilson Fisk. While Marci herself never wanted to put in a situation similar to Karen's, she was prepared for the possibility of having to defend herself. In fact, she'd bought a gun shortly after the death of Jeri's wife at the hands of Kilgrave, which she carried in her purse at all times.

Marci tried to pass their walk through the snow, and take her mind off the ongoing situation with Fisk, by making idle chitchat with Karen.

“…I never really considered what I wanted to be when I grew up,” Karen was saying, “I can say for certain that being ‘a revered journalist with an acclaimed publication’ was not what I ever had in mind.”

Marci giggled. “In another life, I probably would be an actress, with my own Beverly Hills mansion. Another house in Vail. A penthouse here in New York. And a chateau in the French countryside.”

“No!” Karen said, in mock horror.

“Well, it was more a distant fantasy than anything,” Marci smirked, “I’m not gonna throw away all those years of law school practice.”

“You could combine the two,” Karen pointed out, “Marci, your face looks perfect for TV. I’m surprised Hogarth hasn’t run any TV ads with you.”

Marci scoffed. _Hogarth understands the importance of looking professional and not like ambulance chasers. Unlike Donovan._ “We do have an ad department at the firm,” she replied, “It’s rather small and only has, like, ten people.”

“What sorts of ads does she do?” Matt asked, curiously. “Not that it matters to me besides the radio ads.”

“Oh, the usual,” Marci shrugged, “I can describe the one that we put out when we were trying to compile a list of everyone victimized by Kilgrave for the Hope Schlottman case.”

“Which was?”

“Plain white text on a swirly purple background,” she said, “And it’s voiced over by this man who sounds like he’s really tired and just wants to go to bed and never wake up again. Like the ‘If you or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothelioma, you may be eligible for compensation’ ads.”

Matt and Karen laughed. They found those ads to be incredibly dull and unimaginative.

"They worked real hard to get that just right,” Marci said once she was able to stop laughing. 

“How hard can that be?” Karen asked. “It’s such a simple ad that you could easily script, produce, edit, and publish one in the span of a single work day.”

“I’m not talking about the concept of the ad,” Marci said. She giggled. “I’m talking about the swirl. For the background. They wanted it kind of nebulous, but not too nebulous. If you catch my drift? Then there was the issue of the speed. There were a lot of meetings about that. Victims and their families."

“I'll bet,” Karen nodded.

“If I were to advertise for the firm, I’d probably be more like, ‘meet our team,’” Marci said, “And then we cycle through a couple ten-second clips from all the associates, all smiling and singing praises. Then drop the phone number and website link.”

“I’d buy that,” Karen said.

Marci smirked. “I doubt Hogarth will ever approve of my idea. That’s the best advertising idea I can come up with.”

“You have a brilliant legal mind,” Matt replied.

“Not one that knows how to advertise said mind,” Marci countered, giving Matt a meaningful look. “I’m probably gonna write a book about all this.”

“Writing, huh?” Karen was a bit bewildered as to why Marci sounded so enthusiastic about the idea of writing a novel.

"I mentioned my love of Atticus Finch last night, remember?" Marci said. “Well, I like to spend a lot of my spare time reading legal thrillers. They’re very captivating. Especially the ones by John Grisham.”

“I’ve read some of his works,” Karen said, amazed to find another Grisham fan, “They’re pretty good reads.”

“You’re only saying that because you joined a law firm,” Matt said.

“True,” Karen admitted. _I only really got into Grisham after we opened Nelson & Murdock. _“But I do love to read. I was actually going to be an English major, so he would’ve been a big part of my curriculum.”

“Well you’re here and doing fine,” Marci said.

“Which Grisham story is your favorite?” she asked, out of curiosity.

“ _The Firm_ ,” Marci replied, earnestly. They were now at 45th Street, a block away from Matt’s place.

“That’s one of his earlier ones, right?” Matt said. “I’m not really as familiar with him as you, Marci.”

“It was his second,” she replied, pointedly.  “They made a movie adaptation of it with Tom Cruise.”

“What’s it about?”

“Oh, it’s about this Harvard grad who gets a job at a tax firm in Memphis,” Marci summarized the book, “The offer they make is too good to resist. But not too long after he starts, some of his colleagues die in suspicious accidents. He hires a private investigator to look into them, only for the private dick to be murdered himself. Then the FBI show up and he finds that the firm is actually a front for a big money laundering and tax fraud scheme for the Chicago mafia. And it’s designed so that once a lawyer finds out they’re part of a conspiracy, they can’t back out, and they’ll get murdered if they try to go to the police. So he and his girlfriend work out a scheme where they send copies of some of the firm’s criminal transactions to the FBI, then skim money from the crime family and flee to the Caymans.”

Matt felt a nagging feeling tugging at the base of his neck. The plot summary of _The Firm_ sounded an awful lot like what Marci had been through at Landman & Zack. He gave her an accusatory look.

“What?” Marci asked, oh so innocently.

“That sounds an awful lot like circumstances you’ve been through,” he said slowly, “L&Z was a big front for a criminal conspiracy, too.”

 _Maybe that’s why it resonates with me on a personal level._ “I suppose it does,” Marci laughed awkwardly.

“You should consider asking Grisham to give you credit for the inspiration,” he smirked.

“I wish,” she smiled, “But that book came out in 1991. L&Z was just three years ago.”

“Still, the similarities are too much to ignore,” Matt said, that mischievous smirk still plastered on his face.

They turned the corner onto 46th Street and Karen pointed towards a building up ahead. “We’re right up there.”

"What floor are you on?” Marci asked.

“Top floor, 6A,” Matt answered. “Only way to get the roof access.”

“Guess you don’t want your neighbors to figure out Daredevil lives next door to them.”

He chuckled, “And so that I can find my way back in if I forget my keys.”

Matt and Karen lived on the sixth floor, in unit 6A. Marci followed them as Matt unlocked the door and beckoned the women inside.

“Coat rack’s on the wall to your left,” he said.

Marci hung up her coat and winter hat on the rack, adjacent to Karen’s and Matt’s coats and scarves, and followed them into the living room.

“Make yourself at home,” Karen told her, “We need just a few minutes to set up.”

Matt and Karen went over to a desk that was straight in front of the entryway and was covered in folders, papers, and boxes. Marci took that to be all the correspondence they had dug up on Fisk. _Boy, they’ve gotten a real head start compared to me,_ she thought. She set that thought aside and glanced around, taking a moment to fully comprehend that she was in Matt Murdock's apartment—in _Daredevil's_ apartment—which was somewhere she had never really considered visiting, at least not without Foggy. In fact, she had never really thought about where Matt lived at all. Not that she could blame anyone. She was more attached to Foggy, and after what had happened at the Punisher trial, she’d want to keep her distance from Matt too. Nevertheless, she decided to immerse herself. She spent the next ten-or-so minutes inspecting various areas of the room and occasionally throwing a nervous glance back at  Matt and Karen, who were gathering files from Matt’s desk in the entryway.

The living room, Marci observed, was sparsely furnished. There was a glass coffee table with a worn leather couch on one side facing the sliding door that led to the bedroom, and two mustard-yellow armchairs facing the kitchen. Come to think of it, Matt and Karen did not have much in the way of decorations, aside from a few paintings that dotted the walls on either side of the sliding door that led into the bedroom. Marci wasn’t sure just what Matt’s abilities entailed, but given her firsthand experiences when it came to taking lectures with him in law school, he certainly couldn’t see them. Either these paintings were something Matt had bought for the purpose of sighted guests, or Karen had added them when she’d moved in recently.

The rest of the apartment was filled with other reminders that one of the occupants was blind. There was the white cane Matt had left against the wall by the front door. There was the complete lack of a television set, and the bookshelves by his desk being filled with Braille hardbooks and audiobooks. Curiously, there wasn't much in the way of stuff that belonged to Karen. Then again, based on what Matt and Karen had told her, Karen had only moved in a few weeks ago, and Karen had also suggested that a lot of her things were in storage and waiting to be brought out.

Wandering into the kitchen, Marci could also tell that whoever built this apartment had to be a bit of a penny pincher. The kitchen counter was made from unpainted plywood, more specifically, Oriented Standard Board. _Why they don’t have a kitchen counter made from actual marble like Foggy and I have in our place, I will never understand_. Marci was careful not to touch anything, save for a Braille cookbook she noticed by the stove. She flipped through it curiously, having never really bothered to see a Braille book up close before. She couldn’t imagine what Matt’s casebooks had to have been like, compared to those that non-blind people like her used. As she was putting the book back where she found it, something else crossed her mind. She turned around to Matt and Karen, who had finished gathering files and had moved them over to the couch.

“Can I ask a question, Matt?” Marci asked, making her way back towards the living room. Matt turned his head in her direction. “How do you even afford this place? I mean, before Karebear here moved in with you.”

“Well if you came by at night, you’d tell,” he answered, smiling as he recalled the times he'd shown the billboard to Karen and to Jessica the first times he'd brought them here, “There’s a giant billboard on the roof of the building across the street. Developer’s oversight. Doesn’t keep me up at night.”

 _And Karen is willing to put up with that._ “Don’t you suppose you should get some blackout curtains or something?” Marci asked, her question more addressed towards Karen than Matt.

“The way the billboard’s positioned, there’s less light getting into the bedroom,” she said. Her lips curled up in a smile as she said, “What still gets in, I’m willing to put up with because of the amazing man I share a bed with.”

Matt was blushing. _Geez, Karen, it’s bad enough Marci pries about my sex life, and now you’re willing to be open about it, too?_ He shook his head halfheartedly as he sat down on the couch, taking the side closest to the window. Karen ended up taking the side closest to the doorway. Marci pulled up one of the armchairs across from them.

“So, where do you want to start?” Matt asked.

“Tell me everything you already have on Wilson Fisk,” Marci said. “The stuff I don’t know about.”

Matt and Karen obliged. They told her about Nelson and Murdock’s side of things in the Elena Cardenas case, including her death, and the deaths of others they’d gotten close to during their investigations.

“How did Fisk even get his start in all this shit here?” Marci gestured with her hand across the coffee table filled with files.

“It begins with Don Rigoletto,” Matt said, “Like he said, he was the Mafia don who ran organized crime here in Hell’s Kitchen up until the 1990s. Fisk worked for him.”

“Right, you told us that at dinner last night," Marci said.

Karen handed Marci the folder containing Ben’s correspondence with Silvio Manfredi.

"This is Ben's correspondence with Manfredi," Karen said, "He was a member of Rigoletto’s circle. The way he put it, Fisk was recruited into the Rigoletto crime family and worked his way up from the bottom. This was at a time when Rigoletto was making alliances with some other crimelords like Karnelli and Julius Carbone.”

 _Carbone. Connection maybe to Rosalie?_ “Any relation to Rosalie Carbone?” Marci said.

“She’s his daughter,” Karen said, after a moment, “Anyways, Fisk started as an enforcer for Rigoletto and worked his way up the ladder. By the 1990s, when Rigoletto and these other dons were locked up by the FBI, he’d become Rigoletto’s number two and takes over the operation. It's a few years after this that he recruited James Wesley to be his assistant.”

“Thing about Fisk is, he’s someone who will turn on you if you know things he doesn’t want you to know,” Matt added.

Karen handed Marci another folder containing the case file on Julius Carbone. “Here’s what happened to Carbone.”

Marci read the file, making a face as she studied the bloodied remains of Carbone's body on the stretcher. "I saw this," she said, "Fell in front of a train. Surprised there wasn't some asshole photographing it while it happened."

“Fisk had a couple of his guys, Healy, Schmidt, and Pike, push Carbone in front of a train back in fall 2012,” Matt corrected her, “And Rigoletto got whacked two years later, just before Union Allied fell apart.”

“And how did he go?” Marci asked.

Karen handed Marci the NYPD file from the recovery of Rigoletto’s remains. Marci gulped and suppressed a lump of vomit forming in her throat. “Fisk had him cut up with a chainsaw and dumped into the Hudson, just like his father. This was what the police found of him.”

“Anyone get arrested for it?”

“This was when Fisk was paying guys on the force,” Karen said, “And if that's not bad enough, the investigator in charge was Oscar Clemons, who you know, is dead. Over unrelated reasons.”

Marci declined mentioning that she knew the truth about Clemons' death--that it was the work of a former cop named Will Simpson--because she'd overheard Jessica discussing it with Jeri shortly after Kilgrave died. “Fisk clearly resorts to murder to deal with his problems all the time,” she snarked. “But why exactly did he get rid of Rigoletto and Carbone? Competition?”

“Disagreements,” Matt answered, “Rigoletto didn’t agree with Fisk’s new business partners. Specifically the Chinese and the Japanese. And I think Carbone knew about Fisk's dirty secret.”

“This also happened.” Karen handed Marci another folder. Marci opened it to display three photos. It was a series of shots of a dead body, a Kitchen Irish gangster judging by the cloverleaf tattoo on the side of his neck. One of the photos showed that the guy had had his head blown off by a shotgun blast at close range, and a few rounds with pistols to the chest. Marci made a faintly distressed sound and looked away momentarily.

“There was a bit of open warfare going on when the Chinese and Japanese tried to move into Hell's Kitchen," Karen explained, "The Irish didn't appreciate Fisk cutting them out. What's in that folder is the last incident that marked the end of the war, probably thanks to Fisk's intervention."

“Uh-huh.” Marci forced herself to look at the gory tableau more closely.

“These guys were members of the Kitchen Irish,” Karen tapped one of the photos, against the series of cardboard boxes on the right-hand side in frame. “The men who were killed were suspected to be hijacking shipments moved by the Russians and the Yakuza, and the popular theory with the NYPD—” She stopped. “Well, at least according to Ben.”

“A message one can’t misinterpret,” Matt said, grimly pleased. “The Yakuza and Triads were moving into Hell’s Kitchen at the time, forcing the Kitchen Irish out. They didn't want the Irish competing with them. The Irish must have received the message after this incident, ‘cause they backed off pretty quickly. They didn’t come back in numbers until after Fisk went away.”

“And the Irish didn’t retaliate after that?”

“Nope.” Karen shook her head. “I do hear rumors that some of them might have turned to Fisk’s side and worked for him as double agents.”

“So this was in 2009,” Marci said. “While Rigoletto was locked up.”

“Yes, that was the last big skirmish,” Karen explained, “After that, the Irish folded, the Dogs of Hell retreated, and all that was left were Fisk, the Russians, the Chinese, and Japanese.”

“Like we said, Silvio told us that Rigoletto was concerned about Fisk’s new business partners,” Matt remembered, “He had issues with the Triads’ and Yakuzas’ representatives.”

“What kinds of issues?”

“Oh, the usual,” Matt shrugged. _How do I explain something like Madame Gao and Nobu to Marci? I don’t think she’ll buy undead ninjas or resurrection._ “Nobu, the guy who led the Yakuza faction that allied with Fisk, he was a ninja.”

It was inappropriate, but Marci burst out laughing. “Ninjas?” she repeated.

Matt gave her a dirty look. _You work at a law firm that dealt with a mind controller._

“Fisk tried to get me and him to take each other out when I began causing fractures in their partnership," Matt said, "In fact, he killed Elena as bait to lure me to Nobu. Anyways, Rigoletto allegedly didn't like Nobu.”

“Nobu's gang, they were the ones who attacked Metro-General around the same time Frank escaped from prison,” Karen said, “The night after Foggy got shot."

"The press said that some junkie got loose and killed a nurse," Marci said. She vaguely remembered that day, when she'd brought a dressed up teddy bear to Foggy in the hospital. Security had been unusually tight, and there were police crawling over the hospital. The cops were claiming that a junkie had attacked a nurse while trying to get a fix, but she also overheard this one Latina nurse in a heated argument with her bosses, claiming that there was some kind of cover-up going on. But Marci hadn't bothered looking further because she had a busy caseload at the time.

"And they also kidnapped me and those other people who’d been saved by Daredevil," Karen also said.

“I don’t know much about the Yakuza,” Marci said, briefly sidetracked.  _Fascinating that they're real._ “But they really had ninjas? Like, with the red and black stereotypical costumes?”

“The ones who attacked the hospital did,” Matt shook his head, “They were working with Fisk specifically to get the plot of land that Mrs. Cardenas' tenement was located on, so they could construct Midland Circle. And they were working in conjunction with the Chinese, who were bringing in heroin. Neither of them were your average organized criminals.”

Marci swallowed. “What, uh...so, what happened with that, exactly?”

"The Chinese were smuggling in the heroin," Matt outlined, "which they produced and delivered to the Russians, who then cut and redistributed it, alongside the Ranskahovs' human trafficking ring. They were run by an woman named Madame Gao, who had ties to Nobu from their time in east Asia.”

He shuddered, recalling once again what he’d experienced in Madame Gao’s warehouse that day.

“She…” Matt shuddered. “I don’t know, I didn’t learn until just a few months ago that her organization was this fanatical cult that ran a drug ring on a side. She had a bunch of blind mules on hand, who she’d… brainwashed. She... _blinded_ them.” Matt was trembling. _God, it doesn't get easier remembering that stuff._

“Seriously?” Marci asked. Matt nodded. “Holy shit…” Marci put her hand over her mouth. Of all the things someone could do to another person, that just sounded like a worse take on the stories she’d heard about Kilgrave.

“She got away,” Matt said through gritted teeth. “Left the country, but later she came back. She was killed in Midland Circle.”

“This, um...this heroin. Did it have a serpent’s tail on it?” Marci recalled that coming up in one of Jeri’s cases concerning Danny Rand’s reacquisition of Rand Enterprises. There was something about Harold Meachum letting a Triad gang use Rand as a front for a drug smuggling ring that printed dragon serpents on its packaging.

“Yeah. Yeah it did,” Matt bit his tongue. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Marci answered. _Probably just a coincidence._

“Fisk, meanwhile, served as the head of the syndicate,” Karen said, “He's the one who supplies the others with connections. Politicians, crooked cops, journalists, accountants, etc. He uses profits from the drug and trafficking operations to fund his real estate projects and pay off his men. And this was how things worked until the bombings and Fisk's partners all ended up dead or leaving him. And of course, Hoffman turning state’s evidence on Fisk brought down whatever was left.”

Marci nodded slowly. She was happy with the little history lesson she’d gotten on what Fisk had been doing before he was arrested. But that didn’t answer the most important question on her mind. What was there on Fisk that could exonerate Foggy? All of the stuff Matt and Karen had told her about was for crimes Fisk had been involved in before he went to prison. Stuff he couldn’t be tried for again.

“Okay, skip ahead a bit,” Marci rubbed her neck, “Is there anything about what Fisk has been doing in the past week that could possibly help us with clearing Foggy’s name? Do you have any plan on that?”

Matt and Karen traded glances with one another. Matt tried to decide whether they should mention the lead on Jasper Evans, or the protection racket that Fisk was running. On the one hand, Jasper was an essential witness, whose testimony would prove that the FBI had been manipulated. On the other hand, what they’d learned from Turk about the shooting of Anibal Izqueda might also be useful. If Turk was right, they had information on a high ranking individual in Fisk’s operation committing a murder and could use that to leverage Felix Manning. Since Marci wanted to get information to Foggy for him to use in debates, it would certainly be beneficial for her to know about Fisk’s current criminal scheme, so that it could be brought out into the public spotlight.

“We think we’ve found out what Fisk is planning,” Matt said, “Beyond, obviously, that he’s still engaging in criminal shit.”

“Can you be more specific?” Marci asked.

“Fisk is taking interest in criminals involved in corruption,” Matt said, “He's planning to step into the void and become the sole source of government protection for all criminals in the city.”

Marci had a general idea what he might be talking about. “So, like, uh, you pay him, and he keeps the Feds away from you. Is that about right?”

“Yeah. And to carry out his orders, he promoted this British guy to replace Wesley. His name's Felix Manning,” he explained, “He had a meeting with Rosalie Carbone on the lot that used to be Midland Circle, and they discussed the terms of the deal. From what I overheard, the gangsters are paying the money to Red Lion Bank, where Felix and another man named Stewart Finney launder the money into Vancorp, the shell company through which Fisk owns the hotel.”

"Finney's an ex-con. From what I've discovered, it looks like Fisk met him in prison while he was doing time for stealing money from a client and Fisk arranged for his release," Karen said.

"I remember Manning," Marci commented, "Landman's used him a few times as a fixer." She cleared her throat. _But that's not really relevant._ “And how does this clear Foggy?” She couldn’t see how giving the crooked FBI information about Fisk’s ongoing criminal activities would keep Foggy and Matt away from the hoosegow.

“I found another source,” Karen stepped in, bringing up what she and Matt had learned from Misty and Turk, “Felix Manning paid a visit to another gang up in Harlem last night as well. Anibal Izqueda, he led one of the Puerto Rican gangs up there that made a truce with Rosalie Carbone, the Koreans, and the Chinese, brokered by Luke Cage.” Karen declined to mention the exact details of how she and Matt learned that, since she doubted Marci would be thrilled with her hanging out with scum like Turk. “My source says that Felix's meeting with Izqueda got out of hand. Izqueda didn't want to pay. So Felix shot and killed him and a few of his bodyguards, leaving a few survivors to send a message.”

“Jesus…” Marci whispered. _Now I feel even better about leaving Landman & Zack. _

“Yes,” Matt responded, “And the source is very reliable. I've used him a lot.” He paused. "According to him, earlier this morning, some of Fisk's men are going to be having a meeting tonight with Lindsey Costa, the head of the Costa crime syndicate in Brooklyn."

"And why is that relevant?"

"It seems that Fisk killed both their fathers for finding out his dirty secret. Karen and I are hoping to meet with Costa and/or Carbone, and maybe...persuade them, you could say, to stay away from Fisk."

Marci’s brain began firing on all cylinders. _Then there’s a couple people who can be turned against Fisk. Starting with Felix Manning._ “So what are we doing here?” she asked, her heart racing, “We get Felix Manning, tell him we know about a murder he’s responsible for, and try to use that to make him admit that Fisk ordered the FBI to go after Foggy Bear.”

“Without solid evidence, Marci?” Matt asked. “Our source only heard about it secondhand, from one of Felix’s bodyguards who was there. And if he's smart, he probably has already gotten rid of the gun he used.”

“Okay. So let’s go find this bodyguard then,” Marci decided, “He can testify to seeing the gun in Felix Manning’s hands. We get him to talk, maybe we can scare Felix.”

Karen shook her head. “ _No,_ Marci. We’re not doing that.”

“And why not?!” Marci snapped. “You’re saying that Felix Manning is a high member of Fisk’s syndicate, much higher than Hoffman was! He’s the perfect witness!” _You’d pass up such an opportunity?_

 _That British asshole has information about my past and threatened me_ , Karen griped. “I already tried that, Marci,” she explained, “This morning at the bank. And you know what he did? He not only shrugged off the threats, he threatened me. Basically said he was going to expose some dirty shit I did in the past if I don’t back down.”

“Like what? Wesley?” _Since when do you cave into threats?_ Marci thought. Karen was a very fearless woman. Hell, she’d had the nerve to call Lewis Wilson a coward on the radio, not caring at all when he later tried to go after her and Senator Ori. And before that, she’d shot Wesley for threatening Matt and Foggy. So why could threats from Felix Manning be enough to rattle Karen?

“No, something else,” Karen said, “I’d rather not talk about it now.” _I’m not really up for telling you about Kevin at this time. He's only relevant as far as Fisk possibly discrediting me, and that's something for me to handle._ “...there is something you can do with this information, though,” she continued, trying to diffuse the tension, “You can tell Foggy all this and he can feed it to the media when he has his next debate with Tower.”

Marci contemplated the suggestion. _Assuming Fisk is willing to tolerate embarrassment like that._ “Maybe,” she conceded, “But that’s not going to get the FBI out of our shit. What do you have about that?”

Karen sighed. _Time to bring up Jasper Evans._ “Everything that Fisk has done to get out of jail,” Matt said, “Aside from the attack when he was being transferred, it’s all been planned. He’s been setting this up for months. First the hotel-”

“Yeah, yeah, I kinda know that,” Marci interjected, “You told me he bought the hotel using a shell company.”

“Will you let me finish?” Matt said, feeling a little exasperated. Marci relaxed, giving him the greenlight to resume. “As I was saying, he bought the hotel from Rostam Kazemi six months ago using a shell company named Vancorp. Last week, Kazemi tried to buy the hotel back, so Fisk ordered him attacked. Independent of that, Fisk found out a few weeks ago, he found out that Vanessa is facing potential charges for evading arrest, which evidently is why he sold out the Albanians."

"I know about the shit they've done," she replied, "In fact, Hogarth's got me deposing this assistant next week who worked with an IRS accountant the Albanians are buying off."

Karen leaned in, intrigued. "That lines up with what the US Attorney's office is saying, which is that the Albanians had a bunch of government officials including a deputy mayor and few NYPD cops on their payroll. They were heavily involved in corruption, much like Fisk. So in part, Fisk wants to take over the Albanians' connections."

"So, the Albanians get busted, Nadeem now 100% trusts Fisk because this information turned out to be accurate," Matt said. "Now it's time for the second phase."

Karen handed Marci the NYPD file Brett had dropped off that morning.

"Jasper Evans?" Marci flipped through the file.

"Fisk staged the attack on himself in prison," Matt continued, "That's how he, uh, tricked the FBI into moving him to the hotel. He hired this lifer named Jasper Evans, who's doing time for killing two people in a botched convenience store stickup 27 years ago, to shank him and then arranged for him to walk out of prison. On the books, Evans is in solitary. In reality, he's been set free.” 

 _Wow. That’s fucking low, for someone like Fisk._ “He set the guy free?” Marci asked, doubtfully.

“Yeah," Matt said, slowly, "That's what the Albanians at the prison told me."

"Why spring him? If I were Fisk, I'd have killed him," Marci posited, "Y'know, like he did with the Union Allied guys and with, uh, Detective Blake."

"I don't know." Matt shrugged. It was true. He still didn't have a real good answer as to why Fisk didn't just kill Evans. Releasing Evans would hinge upon no one noticing manipulated paperwork and no one on the streets recognizing Evans. Furthermore, between being a convict who had documentation saying he was locked up in solitary, no evidence of organized crime connections, and everything to lose, he'd probably be very quick to strike a deal if the police found him and point a finger at Fisk. On the other hand, if he were killed during the shanking, there would be an investigation into his death, and that might not be what Fisk wanted lest Nadeem become suspicious. His best guess therefore was that Fisk likely wanted Evans kept alive for some future plan.

“We’re thinking, we’ll get him to talk,” Karen said. "If he decides to reveal how he had helped to get Fisk out, either he incriminates Fisk, if Fisk hired him directly. Or, if Fisk went through an intermediary, since he wanted this to look like an attempt on his life, he gives us that person."

“So…” Marci scratched her chin, deciphering and processing their information. “We find Jasper Evans, he goes on record with the _Bulletin_ —”

“—Evans will roll over, give everything up about the shanking, and maybe he can even tell all how Fisk rebuilt his empire from behind bars. And if we can find evidence of any dirty FBI agents and get them to turn on Fisk as well,” Matt finished her sentence. Marci was _buzzing_. This was a brilliant idea. For the first time since Nadeem’s visit at her office, Marci felt a dash of hope. 

“Maybe one of them can also tell us what Fisk has on Foggy," Marci chipped in.

"Hopefully." Matt took a deep breath as he racked his legal mind to think of a strategy for what they’d do when they got Jasper.

“Hey what are we gonna do after we put Jasper on record at the _Bulletin_ , Matt? I don’t think we got to that point,” Karen said. She’d just realized now that beyond finding Jasper and getting him on record, there would be a matter of protecting him to ensure he could testify in court.

“We turn him over to the NYPD, and we work out a deal with Blake Tower,” Matt shrugged. He looked in Marci’s direction. “Or with Kirsten, provided she’s still not mad at me for dumping her.”

“I reckon she might owe you a favor or two,” Marci said, scratching her head. “So, you doing this tonight? Grabbing Evans?”

Matt and Karen both shook their heads. “No,” Matt said, firmly. “We’re going to throw Fisk off-balance first, get him to make a mistake.”

Feeling Marci staring at them, he clasped and unclasped his hands before clarifying, “There’s nobody I can think of that Fisk hasn’t just tossed aside when he’s done with them.” Given what Felix had done to Izqueda for refusing to pay, he suspected it was only a matter of time until he discarded Carbone and some of the other gangs in a similar manner.

Karen outlined what Matt had discussed with her that morning before she'd gone to the bank. “Rosalie Carbone doesn’t know that Fisk was responsible for the death of her father,” she said, “In fact, she might not even know that her father’s death was a murder. We're considering somehow getting word to her and her partners about what we've learned.”

“Turn her against Fisk?” Marci asked, skeptically.

“Pretty much. Whoever Fisk is making friends with, these ‘friends’ need to know what’s gonna happen when they can’t pay him anymore or decide they don't want to keep paying him.”

“While Fisk is dealing with his partners bailing on him, we will swoop in tomorrow to grab Jasper Evans,” Matt said.

Marci leaned back in her chair, processing Matt and Karen’s idea. _One witness is great. But ideally we might want two or three more._ “It wouldn’t hurt to have a couple more witnesses,” she commented.  “What about Rostam Kazemi...whenever he gets out of his coma? He could tell us Fisk’s men bought the hotel from him.”

“He and Neda could identify Donovan and Felix in a lineup,” Matt shot that down, “But he’s hardly a good witness. And I’d rather not subject him to that when he's still recovering.”

It was then that Karen had another idea. Matt had told her that Fisk called him personally on the prison phones, without the FBI noticing. He had to have a way to do that. “What if Fisk has a secret room?” she pondered.

Matt and Marci stared at her.

“Secret room?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I know it sounds crazy, and probably a longshot, but…y’know, if Fisk wants to have meetings with his men without the non-corrupt FBI agents knowing, he would want to have a special room that only he knows about. He’s owned the hotel for six months.  I’m no expert, but I don’t think you can just install a room like that without some serious construction work. So, uh…if we can find evidence such a room exists, and find out the construction firm the Presidential Hotel hired to renovate the penthouse, and find some proof that they were paid by Red Lion Bank, that could lead to something.”

“What will going after the contractors prove?” Marci frowned. “All they’ll be able to say is that they were hired by the hotel to do a renovation job. Fisk maintains two or three degrees of insulation from the guys who do his dirty work, right?”

“…Yes, we did,” Karen conceded. “Even without Union Allied, Fisk still has fingers in construction companies. And the existence of the room has to be a serious violation of his house arrest and New York state law. Hell, if we run with _that_ angle, we could get Ben Donovan to flip because he probably doesn't not know about that violation of the attorney-client privilege. Or Lee, if you want to try your feminine charms on him again?” She glanced at Marci.

“I’m not gonna seduce it out of Lee,” Marci chuckled.

“Donovan deserves more of a beating than the one we gave him, honestly and…” Matt tensed up and his face went pale. Karen nor Marci could hear it, but he’d picked up the sound of a car door opening on the street directly outside their apartment, two heartbeats, and a man talking on his phone.

 _“As soon as I’m done working on this case, Seema…”_ Matt blanched at the voice of Ray Nadeem. _“It’s not exactly an easy one with cooperative witnesses…Look, I’ll be home by six, hopefully. Give Sami a hug and tell him I’ll always love him.”_

“Matt?” Karen asked worriedly.

He didn't answer right away, still concentrating on whatever was catching his attention. "It’s Nadeem. He's coming up the stairs. And there's another agent with him. I think it's the one you and I met by the elevators, Karen."

Marci's and Karen's eyes widened. "Shit! You think he’s been following us?" Marci asked.

Matt paused, then shook his head. "Well, he’s talked to both of you. And since he thinks Nelson & Murdock did work for Fisk, he’s probably going to want a statement from me."

Karen threw a nervous look at the front door, as though she, too, would be able to sense the approaching FBI agents through it. She bit her lip as her mind raced. Her coat and Marci’s coat were hung up on the rack, and Nadeem would certainly recognize them and realize they were here.

"Get your coats and hide in the bedroom," Matt instructed them, as if reading Karen’s mind.

Marci raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "What?"

He argued, “If they see either of you, or realize you’re here, I won’t be able to parse from them whatever crap Fisk may have told the FBI about me and Foggy. This is how we find out what's going on."

There were a few seconds of silence during which Matt was either thinking or listening to Nadeem and his colleague coming closer; Marci wasn't sure which.

"I don't like it," she said finally.

"Me neither,” Matt admitted, “But whatever they're here to ask me, they're not going to say it in front of you."

A loud knock came at the door. Matt waited for a moment to see if Karen and Marci were going to listen to him. With a reluctant frown, they both grabbed their coats and scarves from the coat rack and disappeared into the bedroom, Karen closing the sliding partition behind her.

Matt nervously opened the front door to Nadeem and his partner.

"Hello, Mr. Murdock, it's nice to see you again," Dex said as he recognized the blind man answering the door.

“Hello,” Matt said, pretending not to know either agent. “Who am I talking to?”

“Mr. Murdock, I’m Special Agent Ray Nadeem with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Nadeem pulled out his badge, "And this is Special Agent Ben Poindexter." Then just as quickly, he put his badge away, as if remembering that Matt was blind. "Sorry, I didn't-"

"Nah, I get that all the time," Matt waved dismissively. "Can I help you with something, Agents?"

“We need to ask you a few questions, concerning a case we're working on," Nadeem replied, "Is this a bad time?”

“You really should’ve called ahead, I’m kinda busy here with clients,” Matt said. He tried to close the door on the agents. Too bad for him, Dex put his foot in the door to keep it from closing.

"This matter cannot wait,” Dex said, coldly.

Matt sighed. “If you insist.”

Matt led Nadeem and Dex down the entrance corridor of his apartment. He deliberately felt his way along the walls with his hands, obfuscating his blindness.

“For a blind pro bono lawyer, these are some very nice digs,” Nadeem commented, glancing up at the skylight as they entered the living room.

“Thanks,” Matt said, dryly. They entered the living room.

"This is the only place I've ever seen that's as clean as my place," Dex commented. "My therapist says I got a little bit of Adrian Monk in me."

"I don't watch TV," Matt interjected.

“Can I ask a stupid question?" Nadeem asked. "How is that a pro bono attorney with your income can afford a loft apartment like this in Manhattan when my family can barely afford a three story house out in Little Neck?”

“Well, you can’t tell right now, but there’s an electronic billboard across the street. It lets in a lot of light at night,” Matt snarkily replied, recalling what he’d said to Jessica, and just said to Marci, on that subject. “Not to mention rent prices still haven’t fully recovered yet from the Incident. Thank Tony Stark for that.”

Matt took a seat, not on the couch, but in one of the chairs by the little table in the kitchen. Nadeem and Dex stood in front of him, arms at their sides.

“Not to mention, as you can see, gentlemen, this is also my office…” Matt gestured in the general direction of his desk and to the paperwork covering the coffee table. “…so there’s one less expense to pay.” His voice turned seriously just as abruptly as a light switch being flipped. “But I’m guessing you are NOT here to ask about rent prices for disabled people in New York City.”

“What’s your relationship like with Foggy Nelson? And your dealings with Wilson Fisk?” Dex asked.

Despite knowing about Nadeem’s earlier questionings of both Karen and Marci, Matt couldn’t help but feel his cheeks turning red with anger. “You know, I knew you were going to ask me about that at some point. Let me tell you, Agents, I’m pretty sure Foggy has got every right under the First Amendment to protest your colleagues’ love affair with Fisk,” Matt stood up without realizing, his hand shaping into a fist. “And I’m pretty sure Karen has a right to criticize you in her articles for the _New York Bulletin_ , too.”

It took every ounce of his willpower to not punch Nadeem or Dex right there and then for being such idiots as to blindly listen to Fisk's information. _Don’t attack them. That probably wouldn’t be good for Matt Murdock to assault two FBI agents. It also wouldn’t help you or Foggy here._

Nadeem and Dex remained where they were, unintimidated by Matt’s sudden reaction. “You seem like a decent guy, Mr. Murdock,” Nadeem said, “You care about people. About doing the right thing. I'm guessing that's why you ditched Foggy Nelson as your law partner in the first place. Am I correct?”

“Do you really think I'm going to answer a question that leading?” Matt asked, annoyed, as he sat back down. _And it’s more like we ditched one another. He didn’t want to work with a liability and Stick was pressing me to push him and Karen away._

“To be clear: your firm had taken on Wilson Fisk as a client, is that correct? Did that have anything to do with your firm splitting up last year?”

A look of dread crossed Matt’s face as it suddenly occurred to him. It suddenly hit him that Fisk had more connections to the firm beyond the three cases from Nelson & Murdock’s early weeks.

It wasn’t just Union Allied, Healy, and Elena. There was something that had happened during Frank’s trial, on the day when they put Frank on the stand, when Frank had his outburst. One of the guards that escorted Frank in had whispered something to him, that in hindsight, seemed to have been a message from Fisk. Something like _“Think about what you want, Frank.”_  Frank had blown his trial because Fisk told him to. And the firm officially broke up within just a matter of days after that. Played the right way, Fisk could spin it as if Frank’s rantings on the stand were a result of having been directed by Foggy (especially when Foggy had been more committed to the trial than Matt had), and that the firm closed because Matt had found out Foggy’s fictitious duplicity.

“If you're referring to a single case where we represented John Healy, who allegedly worked for Fisk, even though we didn't know that at the time, the answer's no,” he said, “It had nothing to do with it. Nelson & Murdock represented a lot of clients, for whom all work was completely ethical and legal and protected by attorney-client privilege.” _Well, all of Foggy’s certainly was. Mine, not so much. I did use not-so-legal tactics to bring in Hoffman, and I did beat Fisk’s name out of Healy._ “And since you’re asking me and Marci Stahl why Nelson & Murdock split up, let me set the record straight: the firm fell apart because Foggy and I had a difference of opinion regarding the firm’s direction following the trial of Frank Castle. It was in all the papers, if you even bother to dig them up. Or do you g-men not subscribe to the _Bulletin_?”

"You mean that rag that's seeking to tarnish me for just doing my job?" Dex asked sharply.

"Dex," Nadeem said softly to his colleague, who had clenched one of his hands into a fist.

Dex took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Nadeem cleared his throat and asked, “When's the last time you spoke to your former partner?”

“Last night,” Matt answered.

“Where?”

“The Old Homestead Steakhouse down on 15th,” Matt said. “It was a double date. Me, Karen Page, Foggy, and Marci. Have you talked to her?”

“What did you discuss?” Dex asked.

“Life. Because we hadn't seen each other in a while.”

“Did he tell you anything?” Nadeem asked.

“I told him that I was sorry.”

“About what?”

“That our friendship isn't what it used to be. And I wanted to make it up to him if I could by assisting him with his District Attorney campaign.”

Nadeem nodded. “I see. Have you and Nelson ever engaged in illegal activities?”

“What?! Of course not!” Matt got defensive. “I'm not a criminal!"  _Although I am doing something that should get me disbarred._ "And Foggy hasn't done anything to break the law.” _I'd have gone to the Bar Association in that case._

Dex clicked his tongue. “Is that why you were in hiding for the better portion of the last three months?" he asked. "To get away from him?”

Matt felt his breath hitch, realizing Dex was talking about that period where he'd been missing following Midland Circle.

“I understand you were kidnapped from the 29th Precinct by Luke Cage and Jessica Jones two hours before Midland Circle blew up and took down an entire city block,” Dex said, “Cage and Jones got out before the building exploded, as did Danny Rand, but you just…disappeared. There’s three months here with no record of you taking clients or appearing in court. And according to the NYPD's official report, Mr. Nelson was your attorney that night.”

Matt took a deep breath. _Hopefully he hasn’t talked to Jessica or Luke._ “Yes, I was at Midland Circle, if that’s what you were asking,” he rubbed the back of his head.

“Why?” Nadeem asked.

“None of your goddamn business,” Matt sniped.

“Strange that no one filed a missing persons report.”

“Again, none of your goddamn business,” Matt clenched his teeth. _I don’t want you connecting the dots between me and Daredevil._

“Fine then,” Nadeem flipped his page, sounding annoyed, “Did Nelson ever discuss with you helping his brother falsify his shop’s books to apply for a loan application one year ago?”

 _Theo? Cooking a financial report? Lying on a loan app? Uh, I’m calling bullshit. I know Theo and that doesn’t sound like something he’d do. Maybe I should visit the shop and ask Theo about that. Should do so anyways to let Theo know I'm alive._ “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Matt said, this time genuinely meaning it, “I know Theo and he would never do that.” _It’s probably a scheme set up by Fisk._

“Were you directed to enter a prison yesterday morning and make contact with an Albanian gang linked to the murder of nine federal agents?”

Matt was fuming. _So now Foggy’s brother is also being used as a pawn, and Nadeem knows I was at the prison._ "I have no idea what you're talking about."

“You were at the prison yesterday, and spoke to an Albanian gang. And curiously, all the security tapes have disappeared. Care to explain that to me?”

Matt gave Nadeem a grim approximation of a smile. “I can't testify as to what happened with the security footage.” His voice sharpened. “But you should really consider talking to Michael Kemp there, if that name rings any bells."

"How about you tell us what the hell you and Miss Page doing at the hotel on Tuesday?" Dex demanded.

"That?" Matt winced, recalling his and Karen's encounter with Dex in the lobby.  _We weren't exactly on our way to do something legal. There must be some sort of middle answer between the truth and a lie, that also doesn't betray my secret identity._ "Karen and I were there to talk to people involved in Fisk's release from prison, and you, Special Agent Poindexter, were preventing us from getting an interview with Fisk's lawyer. If it weren't for your obstruction, I'm sure we would've gotten something useful out of Donovan before that masked vigilante showed up and beat up your colleagues."  _Yes, they were just doing their job, but I just wish they weren't protecting that joke of a lawyer._ He sighed. "Look, with all due respect, Agents, you've got me and Foggy all wrong.”

“Yeah, well, uh I don't think we do,” Nadeem said. He lowered his voice and took a step closer to Matt. “I think that you and Foggy Nelson are hiding double lives. Lawyers by day and criminals by night. And  Miss Page and Miss Stahl have been your unwitting accomplices. And while you have grown a backbone in recent months, Nelson has remained complicit. It makes you uncomfortable. And that's why you're no longer law partners or friends. Because if he is indicted, you know you're on the hook too, either as an accessory to his crimes. Or, if you're lucky, simply aiding and abetting.”

That was a tell. Nadeem had nothing on Foggy or Matt. All he had were accusations, backed up by circumstantial evidence. That only existed in the mind of a bald-headed adult manbaby who was turning his G-men babysitters into his own personal Gestapo. If Nadeem had bothered to do his fucking research, he’d find that the image of Foggy as the man who exonerated Luke Cage didn’t exactly gel with whatever Fisk had painted of him as this silent crook. _And Foggy hiding a double life in addition to me? Wait, what?_

Matt bit down hard on his lip, resisting the urge to laugh. Despite his anger over the situation, he couldn’t help but find it hilarious that Nadeem was accusing Foggy of having a double life, in addition to Matt. Nadeem was spot on about his accusations except in one key detail: he had it all backwards. Of the three Avocadoes, the two who actually were living double lives of their own were right here in this apartment. _Irony works in very mysterious ways._ He was also relieved, even if only a little, that Nadeem had not been given anything to establish he was Daredevil.  _Perhaps Fisk is hoping he'll follow a trail of breadcrumbs that leads him to identify me._ “Remind me, _Special Agent Nadeem_ , what are Foggy and I being charged with?” Matt asked.

“Nothing so far,” Nadeem reluctantly admitted.

Matt smiled, but in the way he smiled when he was high on adrenaline after a fight with gangsters. _Nice. Now get the hell out of our apartment and come back when you actually have some evidence._ “Great. Then the only thing I'm aiding and abetting is your exit.” He proceeded to motion towards the entry hallway and did his best approximation of a sightless glare from behind his glasses as Nadeem and Dex exited the apartment.

Matt stood there in shock as the door closed behind the agents, and he heard them drive off in their car. _This is even worse than I thought._ The floorboards creaked from his bedroom, and he slowly turned as Marci and Karen emerged, sporting looks of rage on their faces. He couldn't believe how bad the situation was, which made his blood boil. It just wasn’t enough that Fisk was painting him and Foggy as criminal masterminds, but evidently he’d done something like trick Foggy’s brother into committing fraud? For reasons undetermined? Every time Matt thought he couldn’t hate Fisk any more, the man somehow found yet another way to hurt someone he, Karen and/or Foggy cared about.

If Marci's and Karen’s rapid heartbeats were any indication as they stepped out of the bedroom, they were thinking the same. It took about two seconds for it to become obvious to them that things were not good.

"Was that the agent who shot those Albanians who tried to kill Fisk the other day?" Marci asked, hesitantly.

"Benjamin Poindexter?" Matt asked, "Yeah, it was."

"Well  I guess now we know what Nadeem means when he thinks the firm broke up because of Fisk being a client," Karen said, grinding her teeth together.

"The Castle trial,” Matt replied, lowering his head in agreement. "He thinks we worked for Fisk on retainer beyond the Healy case, and that the Punisher trial, and Castle's outburst on the stand, were Foggy's doing. And that I used that as a final straw to split from him."

Marci looked back and forth between Matt and Karen. “What really happened during the Punisher trial?”

“You remember how Frank had that big outburst? Where he ranted and raved, when I was trying to cross-examine him?” Matt addressed the women.

“Foggy told me about that,” Marci commented. She scoffed, disgusted. “He said you provoked him into it. After a 'cross-examination' that frankly seemed more like a closing argument.”

“ _Fisk_ provoked him into it, Marci,” Matt clenched his teeth and lifted an eyebrow. Marci took a step back. “When Frank was being brought into the courtroom, I heard a guard whisper to him, _‘think about what you want, Frank.’_ I think that guard was working for Fisk. And seeing how Fisk orchestrated Frank’s escape, it makes perfect sense.”

“What do you think Fisk wanted with Frank?” she asked, nervously. From what Marci knew of Frank Castle, Fisk was the kind of person he’d probably kill without hesitation.

Matt scratched his head, trying his best to stay calm.  "According to the source, Fisk may have used him to get rid of another gang leader in the same cell block as him,” he said, recalling what Turk had said at the shop. “A guy named Dutton. And Fisk swallowed up Dutton's operations afterwards, using the money from them to buy the hotel.”

“All the more reason to bring in Jasper Evans,” Karen muttered.

“And Foggy blamed you for Frank’s outburst,” Marci said.

“We both did,” Karen admitted. She turned to Matt. “You know, I guess I have to owe you an apology, Matt, for not stopping to hear you out that day on the steps.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Karen-“

“I was mad at you for flaking on us, and well, the whole thing with seeing Elektra in your bed-“

“It’s fine, Karen,” Matt cut her off.

“I’m just saying...that I felt justified at the time not wanting to listen to you, I thought you were going to spew more bullshit at me.”

“I understand,” he said. “But can we focus on the task at hand first?”

Matt directed his attention to Marci, figuring, since she was living with Foggy, she’d been to Nelson’s Meats a couple of times by now. “Were you listening when you heard the part where Nadeem and Poindexter talked about Theo?”

Marci shook her head and exchanged glances with Karen. “No, we had you two tuned out by that point and we were just gazing out the window, looking at the snow piling up. What about Theo?”

“Has Theo run into any financial troubles lately?” Matt inquired. He had to know what exactly Nadeem meant when he’d said Theo had falsified the butcher shop’s books. Had the shop been struggling financially? Had their rent suddenly gone up? Or anything like that? Whatever it was, it was something that had Wilson Fisk’s meaty fingerprints all over it. "I know, I should probably ask Foggy about this, but he's not here, and you are. So you'll have to make do."

Marci thought for a moment. She had been to Nelson’s Meats with Foggy on a few occasions for lunch and dinner, even socialized with Theo. But Theo never really talked much about what was going on behind the counter, besides all the meat they cut every day, and some of the unusual customers who had come in. _Wait…_ She remembered Valentine’s Day last year, when she and Foggy had gone there for lunch and chatted with Theo. Theo had mentioned the store had been in a tight spot financially. Evidently, some of the meatpacking plants that they obtained their meat from had just stopped doing business for no reason, forcing them to find new contractors. Foggy had offered to bail out Theo, even strongarm their normal suppliers into resuming deliveries, but Theo had declined, saying that he’d taken out a loan from the bank to ensure bills could be paid for on time. After that, neither Marci nor Foggy said anything more, as Theo evidently was handling the problem on his own. Like any responsible small business owner.

“…He did,” Marci said, recalling... “Last year, I do remember him saying he was in a tight spot for a period last year.”

“What happened?” Karen asked. _If Fisk had manipulated Nadeem’s finances, could he have done the same thing to Foggy’s brother?_

“I don’t know!” Marci replied, wiping her face, “I just--I just know that Theo was having problems with his suppliers, and the shop was losing money. He did take out a loan to get some quick cash, but that’s all I remember. Why are you asking?”

“Evidently there’s more to it,” Matt said, “The way Nadeem was phrasing it, he uh…” he grimaced, realizing it as he said it. “…Look, there’s no easy way for me to say this, Marci, but...I think Fisk tricked Theo into falsifying a loan application. Probably with Red Lion Bank.”

 _Fuck you, Fisk. Using another innocent person to blackmail my Foggy Bear!_ Marci developed an angry expression that would make most lawyers cop to whatever terms she offered out of fear.  _Theo deserves better than that!_ “FUCKING BASTARD!” she roared, kicking at the table a few times in frustration. She began marching towards the door. _I’m gonna show Fisk just how personal he’s made this for me._  "FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING ASSHOLE! **FUCK!** "

“Marci,” Karen warned nervously, “I…I get you’re probably not too happy with this, but don’t do anything stupid.”

Marci spun on her heel, body still trembling, heartbeat still beating briskly. "Oh, you're one to talk, going to see Fisk's mother!" she replied. "How'd that turn out again for Ben, huh?!"

"You take that back," Karen shot back. It still stung to have Ben's death and her role in it be thrown in her face, especially in an argument.

"Ladies, let's just...cool it," Matt said, motioning with his hands in his best approximation of a _calm down_ gesture.  _I don't want a catfight._ “You act irrationally when dealing with Fisk, it’s not going to end well.” _Fisk used that sort of manipulation tactic on me to lure me into Nobu’s trap._

Marci breathed deeply. _Fisk wants to hurt Foggy Bear, we need to hurt him right back and make him suffer._ “Then what do you propose, Matt?! Bring in Jasper Evans? 'Cause I doubt he can link Fisk to this!”

Matt was already thinking of a plan. If Theo had, as Nadeem suggested, gotten a loan from Red Lion Bank, then it meant that whoever he’d filed the loan application was crooked, and probably had gotten ordered by Fisk. Someone they could use in addition to Jasper Evans. “We need to talk to Theo.”

“Why?”

Matt sighed. “Because he might just lead us to another witness who can help.”

* * *

**Nelson's Meats:**

Foggy was experiencing a swirl of emotions at this moment. On the one hand, he was nervous. Fisk sending the FBI after him and Matt? He was fine with that. He could tough it out for a few days, and hopefully they’d find no evidence of him doing anything illegal and withdraw. Though he had to be realistic, that might change if Agent Nadeem started looking into Matt. Marci was right. If Nadeem was thorough, he might start probing Matt and notice the correlation between Matt’s disappearance at Midland Circle and Daredevil’s apparent “death” there on the same night.  But on the other hand, he was also excited. Excited about the prospect of getting to use the same oratory skills that Fisk had used years ago to paint himself as a hero. _Fisk will learn what it means to be hoisted by his own petard._

Right now, Foggy was running a meet-and-greet event in the backroom at Nelson’s Meats, hoping to tide the time until Marci came by with Matt and Karen to discuss a strategy, and distract himself from the FBI investigation. He’d exchange some words with various concerned citizens from Hell’s Kitchen, pose for photographs, sign a few autographs, give a soundbite or two to the TV trucks parked outside, spread the word of mouth about his campaign and ensure that Fisk’s crimes were the conversation on everyone's mind. Nelson’s Meats had been doing business in Hell’s Kitchen for 61 years, had strong ties with lots of other local businesses and charities, many of whom had suffered due to Fisk's extortion rackets; combined with it being, well, his family's business, it was an ideal place for Foggy to set up his campaign office.

Around 2:30 pm Theo brought out a big platter of fresh Italian meats from behind the counter and set it down on the big dining table in the middle of the room, for visitors to nosh on. “I got your coppa, your prosciutto, your mocetta, your sweet soppressata!” he hollered, “All you can eat! Free! For anybody who promises to vote for Foggy Nelson, my less handsome brother!” He laughed and playfully put his left arm around Foggy in a tight, firm side-hug.

“You can't do that, Theo,” Foggy chuckled, “It violates election law. It's an illegal inducement to vote.” _I hope Matt didn’t suggest this to you behind my back, did he?_

“I don't see Mrs. Wobschall calling the cops,” Theo countered, motioning to the elderly red-haired woman who was currently putting a few pieces of mocetta and coppa on her plate.

Mrs. Wobschall looked up at them and gave Foggy an amused smirk. Foggy smiled right back. Theo laughed merrily.

 _Still…_ Foggy thought. He suddenly felt a hand on his left shoulder. Turning his head, he found himself face to face with an elderly black woman with her hair tied back in a bun. He recognized her right away as Agnes Callahan. She and her husband Ronald were neighbors of Elena Cardenas’s who lived down the hall from her. Agnes had been made a widow thanks to Fisk; Ronald having been fatally wounded by shrapnel from the same bomb blast at the Russian safehouse across the street that put her and Foggy in the hospital with multiple lacerations from shattered glass. After Elena’s murder, and the building being torn down, Foggy and Matt had successfully helped Mrs. Callahan with finding a new rent-controlled apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, incidentally just down the block from where Matt lived.

“May I borrow a pen?” Mrs. Callahan asked.

Foggy obliged and slipped her a pen from his breast pocket. His gaze was momentarily disrupted as, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an older looking gentleman in a three piece suit with a receding hairline slowly enter the room, staring intently at him. _That doesn’t look like anyone I know. Could that guy be from the FBI? Or even just be one of Fisk’s guys?_ Foggy wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, wondering if he should tell Theo about Fisk having the FBI investigating him. While Theo hadn’t done anything illegal that he was aware of, it would be better safe than sorry in case Nadeem did decide to talk to them. He was beginning to worry that Matt had been right, and Fisk would potentially hurt his parents or Theo to get to him. Innocents who had nothing to do with Fisk beyond be related to one of the lawyers who repped Carl Hoffman.

 _You can deal with him later._ Foggy distracted himself from the newcomer by looking at the form Mrs. Callahan was filling out. He recognized it as a primary ballot. “Is that an actual ballot, Mrs. Callahan?” he inquired.

“I just voted for you,” she said, returning the pen, “Absentee.” She lowered her voice. “When Wilson Fisk set off those explosives in Hell's Kitchen, I lost my husband. Everything that matters, gone. Except my vote.” 

 _I know, I was there. It was horrible,_ Foggy thought.

“I'm counting on you, Foggy,” Mrs. Callahan’s voice steeled up, “You get that son of a bitch.”

“I will,” Foggy nodded solemnly, as she put a hand on his shoulder, “I promise.” _If Matt, Karen and Marci can get Fisk to stop harassing me._

His touching words were enough to put a faint smile on Mrs. Callahan’s face. She planted a kiss of gratitude on Foggy’s cheek, and patted him affectionately on the shoulder before exiting.

“Thank you, everyone!” Foggy raised his voice, addressing everyone present in the room, “And I'll be here 'till close to answer any questions!”

The sharp dressed man who’d entered the room sauntered over to Foggy. “I have a question, sir,” he said. He had a strong British accent. _What’s an English businessman doing at a campaign event for a New York district attorney? I'm pretty sure he can't vote in the State of New York._ “What is the secret ingredient in your world-famous Nelson's sub?”

“A soft robiola,” Foggy answered.

Felix Manning pondered that for a moment. “That sounds intriguing,” he said. _Yes, I’m here to threaten you, Mr. Nelson, but I’m definitely gonna get one. And I’ll pass one to Mr. Fisk when I see him tonight. Come to think of it, I want to reward my men for their loyalty._ “Uh, my business partners are gonna love that. Uh, give me eight of them.”

 _I’m not the one who actually is in a position to do that. I don't work here._ “Uh, Theo can help you at the counter,” Foggy motioned to Theo, standing at the end of the table, watching them. “Is there anything else?”

“As a matter of fact...” Felix snapped his fingers three times. _Boys, come in and act scary._

Foggy looked at him, unsure what the fingersnap was for. "Wait, what are you-" He froze midsentence and clammed up as the man pulled back the lapels on his coat, far enough for Foggy to notice that he had a loaded gun in a shoulder holster, though not far enough for anyone else to notice. At the same moment, six more men dressed in cheap-looking suits filed into the room. No one else paid them any mind, but Foggy was quick to deduce that these must be the Englishman's bodyguards. _This guy works for Fisk. Shit._

“We have unresolved business to address here, Mr. Nelson,” Felix said, the jovial tone in his voice now replaced with something more cold and menacing.

Foggy gulped, swallowing a lump forming in his throat. Theo's eyes widened with fear. _I knew there was something off about you._ “Who the fuck are you?" he whispered. "Crashing my campaign event, trying to intimidate me?! You tell Wilson Fisk I’m not gonna drop out of this race!” His anger was surging, but he managed to keep it in check enough to avoid drawing attention to himself. Last thing he wanted was for anyone to know that a public shakedown was going on.

“You’ve made him very unhappy, Mr. Nelson,” Felix said, dryly.

“No shit, whoever you are,” Foggy rolled his eyes.  “What do you want?” _I hope he’s not going to have these guys shoot anyone here._

“A simple conversation,” Felix said bluntly, in a way that made clear he _wasn't_ going to leave, “The matter that's to be discussed between you and I, is not something that should be privy to prying ears.”

Foggy shook his head. “Whatever you want to tell me, you can say it right here!” 

“I could,” Felix put his hands on his hips “But then I’d have to have my guards here shoot everyone currently in this room. And Fisk does not like excess bloodshed.” _Especially not after the Izqueda incident last night._ Foggy’s heart was beating rapidly. Fisk had a lot of nerve, sending one of his men to the shop to intimidate him. This guy must have come from wherever it was that Fisk procured threatening sociopaths like James Wesley from.

“Well?” Felix put his hands on his hips. _Make up your mind, Nelson._

Luckily, it was Theo who came to Foggy's rescue. “Uh, listen up, everyone,” Theo stammered, in as loud a voice as he could say, “Foggy and I are going to be taking a short break. If you could all step outside for about ten to fifteen minutes, please, that would be most appreciated. Thank you.”

It took about a minute for Theo to quickly and quietly clear everyone present from the room. Soon the room was deserted, with just Foggy, Theo, Felix, and Felix’s six bodyguards.

Satisfied that no one was watching, Felix took a seat at the head of the table, posturing himself to make clear to the brothers just who was in charge of this conversation. Foggy really wanted to punch him, seeing this man casually sitting in the chair that his father sat in when they had big gatherings here.

“Sit,” Felix said, that faux-jovialness back on full display. “Both of you.” It was not a request.

Foggy sighed and took a seat to the British gentleman’s left, while Theo sat in the chair opposite him. Two of Felix’s bodyguards stood behind Foggy, two more flanked their boss, and two stood behind Theo. Just to make sure they didn't try to make a break for it. The platter of fresh meats was seated between them.

“What’s going on?” Theo asked.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man responded, helping himself to some prosciutto, soppressata and mocetta, “My name is Felix Manning. I represent Red Lion National Bank.”

 _Red Lion National Bank._ Foggy felt his heart skip a beat. That was the offshore bank Matt and Karen had said Fisk was laundering his money through. “Is there a reason you want to talk to me?" he asked. "Does Fisk really sending goons to my family’s shop will sway me to quit my little crusade against him? ‘Cause it’s not working.”

“I beg to differ.” Felix raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. “As I was saying, you have been making some very awful, dreadful accusations about Fisk.”

He removed his phone from his pocket and opened it to a YouTube video, which he displayed to Foggy. Foggy squinted, and realized it was footage from his interview with Trish Walker that morning. He’d mentioned Fisk owning the hotel, and what Matt and Karen had suspected Fisk had done to get himself out of prison (though without mentioning Jasper Evans or the false-flag operation).

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Foggy muttered.

Felix put his phone away.

“Mr. Fisk is Red Lion Bank’s most prestigious client, which means anything that threatens his standing is my business.” He gave Foggy a look. “The same way Vancorp is my business, as I’m sure Karen Page and Matthew Murdock have told you.”

 _Shit. This guy’s threatened Karen and Matt too._ “Oh, so you’re the guy who’s been helping Fisk make money despite the FBI freezing his assets,” Foggy snapped.  He wondered if he could get this guy to break by mentioning what he was suspecting based on Matt's description of the prison riot. “I'm betting Fisk has a secret line in that penthouse of his the FBI doesn't know about and that's how he gives you orders.”

Felix was not taken aback at Foggy's near spot-on accusation. In fact, he couldn't help but find it amusing. _He’s really that naïve. He's right, but he has no proof._

“You might think that, Mr. Nelson, I couldn't possibly comment," he chuckled, "You should consider writing short stories with what your imagination can cook up.”

“That’s the thing you don't know about me, I seek to uncover the truth, not spin fake news.” Foggy glanced at his phone, tempted to text Marci. “I’m sure Matt and Karen have their sights set on exposing you already.”

Felix paused. He declined to mention that Karen had spoken to him that morning, as well as what he knew about her past. “There are a few options you have here, Mr. Nelson. I have no intention of interfering with your little sideshow of a district attorney campaign. Provided you do as told.”

“If you’re not here for the campaign, what are you here for?” Theo asked.

Felix casually adjusted his coat. It made Foggy’s skin crawl, and not in a good way. “There are a lot of things that could happen." He directed the answer at Foggy more than Theo. "You could be threatened, I could intimidate you. I could torture both of you, break your fingers one at a time. But those are words that I frankly do not like associating with this sort of…transaction."

"Speak English," Theo muttered.

"It's simple, really: you are going to walk back the remarks you have been saying on all the television stations today about Mr. Fisk. Tell them you were wrong, that you were intimidated into saying these things. And in return, we will call off the FBI’s investigation of you and your partner, and everyone you care about will be left alone. You have a nice shop, and a nice family here. I'd hate to do something bad to them.”

“Try me,” Foggy sneered. His heart was pounding in his chest, hard enough to hurt. Maybe because he was scared, because he was angry that his family was being dragged into the mess; maybe because of both. _Probably both._ Still, this was fairly unimpressive, considering what Fisk had done to Matt.

“What would happen would be..." Felix clicked his tongue "...extraordinarily…distasteful." He stressed the first two syllables in 'distasteful'. “Something you can’t possibly comprehend.”

“Meaning, what, you’ll kill someone I care about?” Foggy asked.

Felix smiled, in a rather malevolent way that still gave Foggy and Theo the willies. “You underestimate what we can do, Mr. Nelson.”

“I don’t even know what the hell you have on me.” Foggy’s palms were sweating. How could he face down tough gangbangers in a hospital room, yet have a hard time facing off with one of Fisk’s messengers? What was the world getting to?

“You don’t need to know. Just take back everything you’ve said about Mr. Fisk.”

Foggy exhaled. “Sorry,” he said, defiantly, “What I do on my own time is my business. Even if I’ve been looking into half the shit that you’ve been helping Fisk engage in, everything I’ve done in this campaign is 100% legal and above-board. And I've got friends on the force, so one word from me and I can have your ass arrested.” He stood up from the table. “We’re done here.”

That was a mistake, for the two guards behind Foggy roughly pushed him back down into his chair by the shoulders.

Felix didn’t snap or lose his composure. “We know that you’re aware of what Fisk did to obtain his current accommodations,” he said. Foggy went still, realizing Felix was referring to Jasper Evans and the purchase of the hotel. “We also know that one year ago, your brother here lied on a loan application he filed with our bank.”

Foggy froze and felt a lump form in his throat. Theo took out a loan with a bank that was in Fisk’s pocket? And he lied on it? _That’s impossible. Theo usually would get a loan from Empire Credit Union, and if he did take out a loan, he wouldn’t lie on the app. He knows the consequences._ “That’s not something Theo would do.” He turned to Theo. “Would you?” he whispered.

Any hope this was just bad information was dashed by the look on Theo's face, which was that of someone who was about to throw up, and the imperceptible nod he gave. “It’s true,” Theo whimpered.

“Quite impressive, your brother,” Felix tapped the table, “He told us that his assets were healthier than they actually were. Tricked us into giving him a loan he didn't have enough collateral for. Do you know what the penalty is when you provide false information when you apply for a loan with us, Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy nodded and glanced at Theo, who had understandably been more or less scared into silence by now. _Yes, I think it’s something like a couple years in jail. Oh Christ, Theo, what did you do?_

“Fortunately, Wilson Fisk is very forgiving and generous.” Felix said. “So I’m offering you a choice. Tell everyone that you were threatened into saying the things you've said on video about Fisk, and we will overlook this, like it never happened. If you don’t, well, I doubt your brother and your parents will enjoy a nice multi-year vacation at Dannemora. It's lovely up there, at this time of year.”

There was a hush silence over the room as Foggy took in the implications of Felix’s words. It was so tense one could hear a pin drop. _Either I lie to the public about Fisk, or Mom, Dad and Theo go to jail. What, is there no middle option here?_

“Why are you doing this?” Foggy whispered. “Why does Fisk have it out for me? Go after Matt and Karen! They're the ones who took your boss down, not me! I was just a bystander to everything they did!”

“If it weren’t for Mr. Murdock’s actions, we wouldn’t be here,” Felix leaned back in his chair. _And I know you know what I know._ “Do you think we don’t know what Mr. Murdock really does at night? It only takes one person asking the right questions in the right places, or maybe, say…a conveniently placed camera, to expose the number of masks he hides behind.”

Foggy glared at Felix. _So Fisk does know Matt is Daredevil, and wants to use that against me as well. And because of something Matt did, my family’s the one who pays the price?! Goddamnit, Matt. What did you do?_

"What the hell's he talking about, Foggy?" Theo asked. _What does he mean that Matt has some other life he lives at night?_

“To be honest, it did not take too much effort to find out," Felix continued, as if Theo hadn't said anything at all, "It seemed unusual that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had such strong ties to the cases at your former law practice.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Foggy lied, trying to sound ignorant, but still unable to completely hide the tremor in his voice from Felix. Because in all honesty, it was true. A lot of Nelson & Murdock’s cases had ended up getting intermingled with what Matt had been doing as Daredevil. Someone paying close enough attention would be able to observe the connection, though with how careful Matt had been, they’d probably just come to the conclusion that Nelson & Murdock had a direct line to Daredevil, not that one of the partners _was_ Daredevil. But Fisk wasn’t most people. And Matt had said yesterday that he’d been caught on camera at the prison.

Felix clicked his tongue. “Come on, Mr. Nelson, you’re smarter than that. We have it on paper, you know.” _Courtesy of some of the best private investigators I can find._ “It’s so…impressive, actually. I mean, the man in the mask, he told Detective Hoffman to hire you and Mr. Murdock as his lawyers. It’s very unusual that the masked man recommended a startup firm like yours to represent such an important witness in a RICO prosecution. And we might not have thought much of it…except that the man in the mask kept Mr. Rance from completing his duties when we dispatched him to attend to your lowly secretary. So I'd conclude the man in the mask seemed to know your firm very well.”

“I-“ Foggy started to say.

“It gets even better,” Felix spoke a little louder, sensing Foggy about to interrupt, “Mr. Murdock was kidnapped from the 29th Precinct last October by Luke Cage and Jessica Jones, shortly before those two were seen blowing up Midland Circle, just a few blocks from here. Murdock seemingly vanished into thin air not too far from there. Daredevil was seen with Cage and Jones inside the building. Two people of similar height and build disappearing in the same general area and on the same night, is too coincidental to be a coincidence. Also too coincidental, is their individual resurfacings, just a few days ago. One would have to be an idiot to not put two and two together, if you hadn’t already. And of course, we have video footage from yesterday of Mr. Murdock exhibiting combat moves that are unique to the man in the mask.”

“Seriously, asshole. If you think tarnishing Matt will scare me, you got another thing coming,” Foggy ground his teeth.

“I am saying,” Felix leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Matthew Murdock and Karen Page’s reckless ability to infect people with their negative points of view, are the reason for your situation here. It’s a shame that they managed to sway you and Miss Stahl into opposing Fisk as well.”

Silence lulled between them, broken only by the constant humming of the shop's freezers.

“So either I lie through my teeth about Fisk, or my family goes to jail and Matt’s secrets go public?” Foggy seethed. Felix nodded. “Nuh-uh. Not doing it.”

Felix got up, pushing his chair back to its place beneath the table. “You better think wise about your choice, Mr. Nelson.”

It was then that Matt, Karen and Marci entered the room, looking like the poster to every Expendables movie. Karen with her dark black-and-red coat. Matt with a light gray suit, red necktie and his glasses. Marci in a silver power suit that accented her hair. Foggy could see the moment when Matt registered Felix at the table, the bodyguards gathered around him and Theo, and saw the way his shoulders tensed and his hands curled up into fists.  If he’d ever thought that Matt could be intimidating in normal clothes, he sure was doing a good job. Marci and Karen were also expressing deadly glares of their own.

“I think it's time for you to leave right now, Mr. Manning,” Matt growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I didn't mention it before, I picked February as the month because the season clearly takes place in winter months. There's lot of snow on the ground outside the prison when Matt is arriving and leaving. We can see snow piled up on the sidewalks when Karen encounters the catcallers in that same episode. Also, there's a fair amount of snow in Hattley's neighborhood in "Revelations" when Nadeem visits her and gets betrayed (though clearly she got more snow than Nadeem's own neighborhood, that same day, when Dex visits Nadeem at his house to pick him up, there's not much snow at all).
> 
> Since primary elections are usually held in the spring, I'm imagining that Foggy's campaign is about getting enough traction to cause Tower to lose his primary election (the election that sets which candidate will be available to pick in the general election).
> 
> Speaking of which, I originally intended for the scene at Nelson's Meats to go on longer, and show Matt, Karen and Marci question Foggy about what Felix just said to him, but I decided against that when I saw how long the chapter was getting. You'll see that part in the next chapter. 
> 
> Bonus points if you saw me rip off a scene from Better Call Saul that discussed the boring nature of most law firm ads.
> 
> EDIT AS OF 06/03/19: I decided to rewrite the questioning scene to have Dex accompany Nadeem because I think that it would just make sense for Nadeem, as Dex's friend who is still vouching for him after the motorcade attack, to suggest Dex get out of the hotel for a few hours.


	16. The Mystery of the Crooked Banker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt, Karen and Marci work strategy to help Theo out of his legal troubles.

There was a small line of satellite trucks and news vans parked along Ninth Avenue between 40th and 41st Streets, where Nelson’s Meats was located. Reporters, cameramen and photographers were huddling around, drinking cups of coffee to keep their hands warm, waiting to score a few interviews with Foggy, and in the meantime, use the shop as a backdrop for their daily live news updates on the Fisk scandal, sharing such responsibilities with the teams they had stationed at the Presidential Hotel.

Foggy’s support from the NYPD had paid off, as there were about a half-dozen cops also amongst the crowd to keep order, and protect Foggy in case Fisk sent any assassins to kill him.

When Matt, Karen and Marci stepped into the shop, Matt was hit with the overwhelming smell of freshly killed meat. Normally, such a stench would be unbearable with his senses (he recalled how hard he had to focus to block out the smell when he was in that meat locker where Frank had killed a few Mexican cartel members; good times, good times), but at Nelson’s Meats, he was willing to make an exception.  

Compared to three days ago, when Karen came by to talk to Foggy about what she’d learned from Neda Kazemi, the place was considerably quieter. There were a few customers at the register, being tended to by a cashier. There was a couple eating a late lunch at one of the tables in the back. And more noticeably, the shop showed evidence of being transformed into a temporary campaign office. There were now green signs plastering the walls, reading “VOTE FOR FRANKLIN NELSON, The D.A for the People!” mixed in with the existing framed photos of the Nelsons standing in front of the shop on its opening day in 1957, members of the family handing out food to the 9/11 first responders, feeding those left homeless by the Incident, among other noteworthy events.

A more noticeable change was the giant sign hanging from the ceiling, with a sketch drawing of Foggy and the text, “Meat the Candidate: Franklin Nelson, D.A. For the People! 2:00 pm-10:00 pm TONIGHT.”

“That was my idea,” Marci said to Karen, smiling faintly.

“Borrowing from Douglas Adams?” Karen asked. _He used that pun in Restaurant at the End of the Universe._

Marci narrowed her eyes at her. “Uh, no,” she laughed, “Just…it’s a play on words. ‘Meat’ / ‘meet’. The Nelsons have been running this shop for 61 years. And I wanted to play up his working class background.”

“Clever,” Karen said. _Except why do you depict Foggy with shaggy hair? He’s clean-shaven now, and frankly, much as I liked that look, he looks a lot younger with short hair._ “Mind explaining to me why you got his hair wrong? Foggy cut his hair when he joined you at Hogarth’s firm. That looks more like the Foggy that I worked for at Nelson & Murdock, not the one you’re living with.”

Marci blushed with embarrassment. “The artist might have borrowed a bit of influence from Theo,” she admitted, “He still has long shaggy hair.”

“I’m sure it looks good on him no matter what,” Matt said. He couldn’t really tell whether Foggy had long hair or not. He was blind, so that was merely a trivial matter to him.

“I sometimes envy him whenever he brings me here,” Marci mused. “My family’s not quite as big or rambunctious.”

“Really?” Karen asked. “You’ve never discussed them much.”

“Well I told you last night, my dad’s a judge,” she said, “And my mom, she’s a fashion designer. In fact, she’s doing a show in Milan next week.”

“Milan?” Karen’s eyes widened briefly.

“I wish I could go there,” Matt said.

“Maybe if we ever get married,” Karen smirked. She blushed as she remembered something she once said to Matt when she was serving some of her homemade lasagna to him and Foggy after he'd saved her from Rance. _"So I know it's not much in the form of repayment, but it is my grandmother's recipe and she made me promise only to serve it to my future husband."_ After the past 48 hours, was it bad that a little part of her did want to marry Matt? _Save that for later, Karen._

“Only thing I dread is that she’ll have all these new clothes for me to try on when she gets back,” Marci said.

Karen glanced around the shop. _Something’s not right. Why is no one lined up to meet Foggy?_ “I don’t know where the hell Foggy or Theo might be. Are they-” she stopped as she noticed Matt had gone completely still.

 _Wait_ , Matt thought. _This is not good._ His fingers were twitching. He craned his neck, tuning out Karen and Marci’s idle chatter. He could make out two heartbeats coming from the backroom inside the shop, the one the extended Nelson clan used for family gatherings. They were both rapid and nervous, and racing. It had to be Theo and Foggy. _What the hell’s going on?_

It took another second for Matt to realize, Theo and Foggy weren’t alone. There were about a half-dozen other heartbeats coming from the backroom as well, steady and solid as a metronome.

Then he caught a snatch of Foggy’s voice.

_“That’s not something Theo would do. Would you?”_

Matt frowned. _Damn it._ Foggy was being intimidated by some of Fisk’s men. But what caught his attention more was the fact that Foggy had mentioned Theo’s name. _What the hell is he talking about?_ He strained his ear, trying to focus.

_“Actually he did. He told us that his assets were healthier than they actually were. Tricked us into giving him a loan he didn't have enough collateral for. Do you know what the penalty is when you provide false information when you apply for a loan with us, Mr. Nelson?”_

Matt nearly fainted as he recognized the familiar British accent he’d overheard he’d spied on that gang meeting between Rosalie Carbone and Fisk’s right hand man at Midland Circle. _Felix Manning._ The man that Karen said had threatened her with the secret about her past. What was he doing here? Threatening Foggy and his brother?

“Matt, what is it?” Karen asked. She saw alarm on his face, and horror, before his expression hardened into determination. When he didn’t speak, she reached out and shook his shoulder. “Matt! What the hell’s going on there?! You said you weren’t going to hide things from me anymore!”

The grim lines of his face softened slightly. “Felix Manning is in there. He’s talking to Foggy and Theo.”

“Damnit!” Marci’s eyes widened with fear.

“Shit!” Karen cursed, simultaneously. Her stomach turned cold and sick at the thought of crossing paths with that guy again, after he’d threatened her with the details of her life in Vermont. She silently prayed that Felix wasn’t using that information to threaten Foggy. If he did, she would never forgive herself. “What’s he saying? Anything about me?”

Matt tuned Karen and Marci out for a second, straining his hearing as he listened in on Foggy’s conversation with Felix. Between the activity going on outside with the news trucks, and the sound of the freezers inside the shop working at full blast, it took a fair amount of concentration.

 _“Why are you doing this?”_ Foggy was saying, _“Why does Fisk have it out for me? Go after Matt and Karen! They're the ones who took your boss down, not me! I was just a bystander to everything they did!”_

 _“If it weren’t for Mr. Murdock’s actions, we wouldn’t be here,”_ Felix said, _“Do you think we don’t know what Mr. Murdock really does at night? It only takes one person asking the right questions in the right places, or maybe, say…a conveniently placed camera, to expose the number of masks he hides behind.”_

 “He was talking about Theo a moment ago. Now he’s talking about me,” Matt said to Karen and Marci, coldly. 

“Regarding…” Marci asked.

He turned to Marci. “Fisk knows that I’m Daredevil,” he said, reluctantly. 

Marci’s look hardened into an angry glare. “He knows who you are?!” she asked, alarmed.

“Keep your voice down!” Karen hissed at Marci, looking over her shoulder at the reporters gathered outside.. Daredevil’s secret identity was one of those things that the vultures would love to pounce on. 

“Yes,” Matt whispered. “How the fuck could you be so careless, Matt?!” Marci ripped into him.

“I went to visit him after Frank escaped,” Matt tried to explain, “He threatened me, and Foggy, and indirectly you, when I brought up his relationship with Vanessa.”

Marci ran a hand through her hair, trying to process the information and refrain from strangling Matt for not telling her or Foggy about Fisk threatening them. “And you got me dragged into your shit,” she growled. “Brilliant idea of you, Matt, pissing off a man with so many of the courts, and the press, and probably fuck-knows-how-many law firms and FBI agents in his pocket!”

Maybe it was her anger, or maybe it was just Matt's lack of patience, but he had no time to be reamed out by Marci. All he did understand was that right now, Foggy was in there being intimidated by Felix Manning and he wanted to go in there and break things off before Foggy cracked. Foggy was in the same boat as Karen had been when Wesley had taken her, only this time with a man who had a bunch of bodyguards surrounding him. 

“He tried to kill me yesterday!” he whisper-shouted, harsher than he'd intended. Marci fell silent as quickly as if he'd yelled at her. He could feel Marci’s stare boring through him as he took a deep breath. “I should’ve mentioned this back at the apartment, but when I went to the prison to get information about the shanking, and learned about Jasper Evans, Fisk directed inmates on his payroll to attack me, like he knew that one of the lawyers who put him away would visit. He has a phone line directly to the prison from his penthouse.” 

Marci ran a hand through her hair. “So that’s where you think Fisk has a secret room,” she deduced, sounding annoyed. 

Karen scoffed sharply. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“You better tell Foggy Bear about this tout-suite, Murdock,” Marci muttered. “I mean it.” 

“In the morning, Marci,” Matt clenched his teeth. _I’m not gonna drop this bombshell on Foggy while he’s in the midst of being threatened._  Matt focused back in on what Felix was saying to Foggy.

_“…And of course, we have video footage from yesterday of Mr. Murdock exhibiting combat moves that are unique to the man in the mask.”_

He had a feeling Foggy was probably about to blow, and made a decision. 

 _“Seriously, asshole. If you think tarnishing Matt will scare me, you got another thing coming,”_ Foggy was saying.

 _“I am saying,”_ Felix emphasized, _“Matthew Murdock and Karen Page’s_ _reckless ability to infect people with their negative points of view, are the reason for your situation here. It’s a shame that they managed to sway you and Miss Stahl into opposing Fisk as well._

_“So either I lie through my teeth about Fisk, or my family goes to jail and Matt’s secrets go public? Nuh-uh. Not doing it.”_

He heard the sound of Felix getting up, pushing his chair in. _“You better think wise about your choice, Mr. Nelson.”_

It was then that Matt barged through the doors into the backroom, accompanied by Karen and Marci.

Foggy was seated at a chair on one side of the massive dining table. Theo was seated opposite him. Felix was standing up from his seat at the head of the table. They were surrounded by Felix’s bodyguards, some of whose heartbeats made Matt recognize them as ones who’d escorted him at Midland Circle last night. There was also a platter of fresh deli meats sitting in the middle of the table. Matt’s face set in a hardened, grim look that one would normally only see when he was out Daredeviling at night. Marci’s and Karen’s faces also hardened into something that could murder with a single glare.

“I think it's time for you to leave right now, Mr. Manning,” Matt growled.

Felix turned to the visitors, slightly annoyed that his little chat with the Nelson brothers had been interrupted. Karen’s hand moved towards her purse as she glared hatefully at Felix, remembering the smug look on his face when he disclosed his knowledge of her past to her at the bank.

After a long pregnant moment, Felix redirected his attention to Foggy and slipped him a card. _I’m not gonna engage in any sort of fighting here, it’s not worth it._

“It was nice speaking with you, Mr. Nelson.” He turned to Theo. “The sandwiches I requested earlier?” He said it in a tone that wasn’t a request.

 _Goddamnit,_ Karen cursed.

Realizing it was demand in exchange for not getting shot, Theo sighed, reluctantly got up from his chair, and shouldered his way past Matt, Marci and Karen. He was followed shortly by Felix’s bodyguards, who filed out of the room.

Felix was the last to leave, Karen kept her piercing stare directed at Felix as he advanced on them, their eyes locking on one another for a brief instant. _I’d punch you, but Matt probably won’t let me._

Before Matt or Karen could react, Marci stepped in front of the doorway to block Felix’s exit. Her lips curved up into a vicious smile, but something about it seemed wrong to Karen.  “Don’t you Limeys have any better ways of threatening people?” Marci asked, folding her arms in front of her. _That was horribly offensive, but, fuck do I care, he’s threatening Foggy Bear._

She was disappointed that Felix didn’t react to the slur, and just clasped his hands in front of his chest.

“Miss Stahl, you're an educated woman,” Felix clasped his hands in front of his chest, “Let me pay you three the compliment of being blunt. There's a large, a large and popular business which you are causing dismay. Why don't you just cross the street and let things take their course.”

“Wow. I didn’t know I used to work for a 'popular' business,” Marci said, false sugar in her voice, and that syrupy, underestimate-me-if-you-dare smile.

Karen snorted. “You think you can scare us?” she asked, coolly.  Felix turned his gaze to her. “How do you think Fisk gave you this job, _Felix_? Do you think the last guy is enjoying his retirement on a beach?”

She could’ve sworn she saw Felix’s brow raise, and his cheeks flush.

“Wesley was a good friend,” he said, hands twitching slightly, “And the person who killed him will pay for the blood they’ve spilled.”

Matt wanted to really muffle Karen’s mouth right now. _Don’t try to piss him off with the details of Wesley’s death, Karen._

“You know what they call this, Manning?” Matt asked. “Intimidation of a public servant.”

Felix was unfazed. “You're making a huge mistake.”

“Yeah I know,” Matt laughed sarcastically and put his hands on his hips, “Enough to know I'm beginning to enjoy them.”

Felix smirked. “You three are untouchable, is that what you think? No one can get to you?”

“You tell Fisk-“ Matt started.

“Hey, everyone can be gotten to.” Felix waved his hands in front of him dismissively.

“… you tell Fisk, that if he wants a war, he’s got one,” Matt said, venom and determination in his voice.

“You really think that you can make a difference?” Felix chortled. He turned his head back in Karen’s direction. “Working with a woman who’s never had any regard for her own life, or the lives of her own friends and family?”

“ _You take that back_ ,” Karen hissed through gritted teeth. Her face contorted with pure, unbridled rage. _You must have had a hand in killing Bernie._ Before Matt could move to restrain her, she suddenly punched Felix hard in the face just below the chin. Felix stumbled back, clutching his face.

“Karen!” Marci exclaimed. Matt grabbed Karen as she prepared to swing at Felix again and restrained her.

“This is not the place, Karen!” Matt said, coldly.

Karen growled. Felix didn’t even give her the satisfaction of being stunned. He just nonchalantly wiped the trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth and chuckled.

“Beneath the newspaper articles, the op-eds, the briefs, we can never entirely hide what we truly are, Miss Page.” He collected himself and walked out the door, to join his bodyguards by the counter. “Good day to you.”

"Don't forget to vote!" Marci called after him. _Not that I think he'll ever vote._

The lively campaign room was now empty, and deserted. The only occupants in the room were Matt, Karen, Marci, and a rattled and scared shitless Foggy. As Matt gathered his thoughts, he picked up Foggy’s pounding heartbeat.

Foggy was struggling to breathe in fully, and feeling a tingling sensation in his arms and legs. Wasn't that a sign of something bad? He balled his hands up, feeling his fingernails dig into the wood of the table.

Marci took the chair next to Foggy, her hands already in fists, her eyes sharp and dark. “Foggy Bear, are you all right? Did he hurt you?!” she said, her voice one of panic. "Foggy?" He didn't respond. Foggy didn't seem to notice.

“Hm?” Foggy asked, feeling slightly dizzy. “Yeah? Marci?”

 _I’d have grabbed a gun to shoot him and his guards,_ Karen thought as she and Matt sat down across from Foggy.

A strong dizzy sensation hit Foggy, and he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table and pressing his palms to his eyes as he waited for it to pass. But it didn't.

"Foggy?" he heard Matt's calm voice say from across the table. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Just give me a second."

The sound of his heart racing was almost deafening even in his own ears; this must be what Matt felt like all the time.

The sound of metal scraping the concrete floor filled the room as Marci turned her chair in Foggy’s direction, causing him to look up.  
  
“Foggy Bear, breath,” she said, quietly, but firmly, feeling Foggy grabbing her forearm.

Foggy leaned forward and practically buried his face in her hands.

"They're going to arrest Theo, and Mom and Dad," he said, addressed to all three of them. "Fisk tricked them into committing fraud and if I don’t do what that man says, he’ll have them sent to prison!”

"I won’t let that happen," Matt countered firmly. "Your family will be fine.”

Foggy felt his breathing get under control again.

"I'm not going to let your family go to jail, Foggy," Matt said softly. "Okay? We got this."

Foggy looked up at Matt, relieved at the concerned expressions Matt and Karen were giving him.

“What was Felix Manning doing here?” Marci asked Foggy.

Foggy relaxed as Marci put a hand on his shoulder. “Not here to discuss banking, obviously,” he answered.

Marci made an impatient noise. “What did he want?” Foggy lowered his head. "Foggy Bear, what did he say?!”

Foggy looked down at the business card Felix slipped him. He just wanted to throw up. Matt heard Foggy’s breathing falter slightly, like he was debating whether or not to continue.

“He claims that Theo took out a loan with Red Lion Bank last year-“

 _Theo borrowed money from a bank Fisk controls._ “He borrowed from Fisk?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Foggy whispered. “And evidently he may have lied on the paperwork or something.” Which still made no sense. Why would Theo go to an obscure bank like Red Lion for a loan? Foggy hadn’t even heard of Red Lion until Matt and Karen brought it up yesterday at the police union event.

“Yeah, that’s a very serious offense,” Matt commented, “The banks don’t like it when you lie to them. I think it’s punishable by up to eight years in prison.”

“Felix was saying that if I don’t take back the things I’ve been saying about Fisk all morning on the TV stations, and in the _Bulletin_ , he’s going to have the bank call the loan,” Foggy whispered, fighting the urge to cry.

Marci rubbed Foggy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Foggy Bear. We’ll get through this.”

“I just—” Foggy started. “I don’t understand! Theo’s been working the shop the last 12 years with no real incidents so to speak of! I don’t know why he’d get a loan from Fisk’s bank.”

Karen had an idea. Fisk had control of Red Lion Bank, but he had to have other banks he controlled. Whether directly or indirectly. He had controlled Silver & Brent after all. “What bank does the shop normally do business with?” she asked.

“Empire Credit Union,” Foggy answered. “I don’t know why Theo didn’t go to them.”

“I think I do,” Matt said, hastily. He remembered what Marci had said she’d uncovered about Ray Nadeem, how it was possible Fisk had manipulated his finances.

“You do?” Foggy straightened up.

Matt waited a beat before answering, “Yes.” His lips set in a grim line.  “I think, somehow, Fisk bankrupted the shop, and then had his people at Red Lion come in like guardian angels with offers of help. But as a condition of their help, they made your brother do something amoral.”

Foggy stared across the table at Matt. “Did you overhear everything Felix was just saying?”

“Partially,” Matt admitted, “Nadeem also was just at my place and he asked me about it.”

“Jesus Christ…” Foggy rolled his eyes.

Matt pressed his lips together tightly, steeling himself before going on.  Foggy clearly had no idea about the fraud until just now, and based on his body signals, he was in no condition to ask more about it. Theo, on the other hand, he had to remember the name of whoever he spoke to at Red Lion Bank. He doubted that this person was Felix Manning. It had to be someone else, someone who clearly was in Fisk’s pocket, on account of Felix's direct line to Fisk. Maybe that Stewart Finney guy.

“Will you bring Theo in here, please?” he said to Foggy. “Marci and I need to talk to him.”

Foggy took offense at being left out. “Why are you leaving me out?” Foggy insisted, “I’m his brother, Matt. This is my family that’s at stake!”

Matt made a face. “I know that, Foggy,” he said, “But…Felix was just threatening you. You’re emotionally vulnerable, having this news just dropped in your lap. I get you’re a great lawyer, but…this is just one of those battles you have to leave to someone else.”

Marci and Karen looked back and forth between Matt and Foggy. Foggy looked to them with a look of, _“You gonna help me talk some sense into Matt on this?”_ Karen shook her head. She agreed with Matt’s position. So did Marci.

“I daresay that Matt is right,” Marci said, reluctantly, “You’ll need to take a rain check on this one, Foggy Bear.”

Foggy sighed, hating that he was outnumbered. “I should be here, though. To lend Theo emotional support.”

Matt sighed. Given the scary situation, Theo probably did need someone like Foggy in his corner.

“Okay, you can stay… but you have to promise you’ll just be an observer,” Matt warned. “Let Marci and me do all the talking.”

Foggy reluctantly got up from his chair and disappeared from the backroom, heading back to the counter in front.  
“What about me?” Karen asked. _You left me out._

Matt turned. For the purposes of this impromptu deposition, he and Marci needed to do all the questioning. They had no court reporter, so he decided Karen would be a proper substitute.

“Act like this is one of those client meetings we did at Nelson & Murdock,” he told her, “Marci and I have to do the majority of the talking. Are you okay with that?”

“I’m more used to asking the questions now, Matt,” Karen protested.

“Please, Karen?” Matt made a blind man's approximation of puppy eyes from behind his glasses.

Karen sighed, reluctantly. “Just this once.”

A moment later, Theo reentered the room, accompanied by Foggy. He was staring at Matt the whole time, trying to process what that British guy had said about Matt being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It seemed impossible. Matt was blind, for all he knew.

“You all right, Theo? You up for this?” Matt asked as Theo sat down at the head of the table. Karen was in the process of unpacking her computer and setting up a Word document.

Theo nodded. “I nodded,” he said. “Um. Sorry, uh...” _You don't like you could be Daredevil._

Matt paused, and almost looked up at Theo from under his shades. “Are you all right?” he queried. “You sound … nervous.”

“Don’t hit me, all right,” Theo said. “Okay. That guy, Manning, he was saying something about how you’re Daredevil.”

Matt sighed, wearily. _Yes, I know, I overhead Felix say that to you._

“Really?” he feigned ignorance.

Behind him, and on the opposite side of the table, Matt got the sense that Karen and Marci were shooting dirty looks at Theo, ones of _Theo, now is not the time to discuss that matter. Your issue first._

“Honestly, it sounds like a lot of bullshit,” Theo stammered. He couldn’t help but glance at Matt’s hands. “Though, um, your knuckles are all bruised, like you use them a lot.”

“I go to Fogwell’s fairly regularly,” Matt said.

“Right.” Theo felt suddenly ridiculous. “But that man was saying-”

Marci tapped her watch. _You have questions about ‘how is a blind man beating the shit out of criminals’? Please wait your turn._ “We’re not here to talk about whether or not my co-counsel is allegedly a vigilante, Theo. We’re here to discuss whatever illegal shit Wilson Fisk is blackmailing you over,” she said, slightly agitated.

Theo looked at Matt. “Sorry, man.”

Matt shrugged. “Look, it’s fine.” But seeing as Theo had brought it up, and he wasn’t going to lie anymore, coupled with Theo and the Nelson clan being good friends to him, he might as well know the truth. Maybe at the next gathering, once Fisk was back in prison. “Let’s talk about your case here.”

 “There’s nothing you can do for me,” Theo responded.

Karen began typing in her Word document. “You can tell us what you know and we’ll find a way to fight this with the legal system, and the press.”

“That man said that I don’t convince Fog to retract what he’s been saying about Fisk, I’ll go to jail,” he protested, glancing at Foggy. “Why should I tell you what happened?”

“Because we, and that means myself, plus Karen and Matt here, think you might know someone else we can use to put away Fisk without your name being dragged through the ringer,” Marci answered. “We won’t have to bring up your name at all.”

Theo looked to Foggy for emotional support. “You can do that?” he asked.

“I’ve helped clients in similar situations to yours, ones who’ve been similarly threatened by Fisk,” Matt said, squeezing Karen's hand under the table. Karen took the nonverbal message he was conveying, knowing he was referring to Wesley.

“Is there a retainer fee I have to pay you or…?”

“No, this is pro bono,” Matt responded. He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned over to Karen. “Start taking notes.”

“Please state your name for your record,” Marci said.

“Theodore Edward Nelson,” Theo said.

“And where do you live?” Karen asked.

“529 Ninth Avenue, New York City.”

“Now, Theo,” Matt said, deciding to talk to Theo like he was handling a client he was meeting for the first time. “We understand that you’re in some legal trouble.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Theo asked.

“Because you’re my client, Theo,” Matt said, bluntly, “I’m treating this like a proper deposition, even though there's no court reporter.”

Marci cleared her throat and shot a look at Matt. “Ahem."  _Let's not get too sidetracked._ "How long have you been working here at Nelson’s Meats?”

“My grandparents opened this place in 1957,” Theo answered, “I came on in 2005, when Mom and Dad needed an extra pair of hands around the shop.”

“And what do you do here?”

“I manage the bookkeeping, and I also run the counter, oversee orders from our suppliers, that kind of stuff.”

“I see,” Marci said, tracing her lips with her left pointer finger. “Now, like my co-counsel was saying,” she shot a look at Matt, “and as I recall from a conversation you had with me last Valentine’s Day, the shop had some difficulties last year? Care to elaborate?”

Theo put his hands on the table and leaned forward, glancing at Foggy and Marci.

“Yeah, we...uh....we did,” he said. 

“Would you care to explain what exactly was going on?” Matt asked. 

Theo exhaled. “A little over a year ago, some of our suppliers stopped taking our orders,” he said, “They just stopped. No reason I could understand. We couldn't change their minds for the love of money! After a few months, the shop was in a tight spot financially, right? And we didn't have the collateral to get a loan.” 

Karen, Matt, Foggy, and Marci glanced at one another. They all quickly figured what Theo was not saying: Fisk directed the suppliers to stop doing business with the shop. 

“Who were these suppliers?” Matt asked. 

“Bowery Meat Company, Happy Valley, Dickson’s, Toole & Sons, Rand Foods,” Theo answered, “All of them just quit without any warning.” 

“Did they say _why_ they ended their contracts with you?” 

“Dickson’s claimed they heard rumors we’d had numerous healthcode violations,” Theo said, “Which was bullshit ‘cause I run a clean ship here. And Happy Valley, they claimed that they were going through budget cuts. To name a few.” 

Something didn’t track with Matt. Theo’s brother was a very successful lawyer raking in at least a seven-figure salary. He could have admitted to Foggy how bad things really were, and asked for his help. Foggy surely would’ve happily cut him a check or two, maybe even talked to the bank himself. 

“Did you know about this?” Marci asked Foggy.  

“No! This is the first I’m hearing of it!” Foggy replied. Despite Matt's directions to stay quiet, he couldn't help but ask the next question. “Why didn’t you come to me? I could've helped!"

“We could have helped you, Theo,” Marci interjected. 

“Well I didn't _have_ to,” Theo stressed, “Because of what happened next. Out of the blue, I get this call from a bank I never heard of offering to help us out.”

“And who was the bank in question?” Marci asked.

Theo rolled his shoulders. “Red Lion National Bank.”

“Geez I knew it!” Karen exclaimed. This was the first word she’d spoken since Matt and Marci had started their questioning.

“What, you know these guys?” Theo asked.

Karen sighed. “They’re a bank that is controlled by Wilson Fisk,” she explained, “That guy who was just here, his name is Felix Manning. He’s a fixer and he launders Fisk’s money through the bank into various shell companies. That used to be handled by Leland Owlsley until his death a few years ago-”

“I don’t think he needs to know that,” Marci said, quietly. Karen ceased talking.

“Go on,” Matt nudged in Theo's direction, “This isn’t your first time borrowing money from a bank, is it?”

“No it’s not,” Theo answered.

“But this time, there were unusual circumstances, weren’t there? That’s why we’re here today, isn’t it?” Matt’s voice lilted upwards at the end.

Marci leaned forward on the edge of her chair, heart beating faster though her voice stayed perfectly even. “So let’s talk about what happened when you went to Red Lion Bank.” She pointed her pen at Theo. “You went to them sometime last year. You sat down with a loan officer.”

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“Now…” Marci’s voice took on a false thoughtfulness. “Let me back up a bit, you said that you didn’t have enough collateral to get a loan at ECU. Yet somehow a visit to Red Lion and magically, they’re willing to give you it.”

“Yes.”

“How exactly did that happen?”

“So, the loan officer there,” Theo resumed his story, “He coaches me on how to move the numbers around. Make our assets look healthier, you know. And bam! The loan comes through without a hitch. I don't give it another thought. Life goes on. I mean, we've been through a lot around here.”

“And the old suppliers came back,” Matt said, rhetorically. _Now that Fisk had evidence of Foggy’s brother committing fraud, and blackmail to use against Foggy, they could resume business._

“Yeah. Yeah, they did, now you mention it,” Theo said.

“And then Felix Manning came to talk to you just now,” Matt said.

“Yeah,” Theo said. “He knew all about the creative accounting on the loan app.” He turned his head towards Foggy and Marci. “He said unless I can convince you to walk back everything you’ve said about Fisk, he'll have Red Lion call the loan.”

“Of course,” Karen scowled. That sounded almost exactly like the sort of threat Wesley had made when he’d had her in that warehouse. _The more things change, the more they stay the same._ Except there were some differences. In Karen’s case, she hadn’t yet published anything, and the thing Wesley was threatening her over was having spoken to Fisk’s mother. Foggy was being threatened over something his brother had been manipulated by Fisk into doing.

“That application…” Theo lowered his voice. “If anyone looks too carefully at it-”

“You're going to jail,” Matt said.

“Not just me,” Theo said, “Mom and Dad signed it, too."

Foggy’s face blanched. He looked like he was barely holding back the urge to cry. “Shit.”

Matt and Karen took a moment to let it all sink in. This had Fisk’s signature all over it indeed.

“So let me get this straight,” Marci said, “You’re telling us that Wilson Fisk made your suppliers stop doing business with you. He drove you into a financial hole that made you desperate, and ruin your credit bad enough that Empire Credit Union wouldn't let you borrow from them. Then Fisk had his people at Red Lion swoop in like angels from up on high, accept your loan application, and directed you to cook your books. And now that Fisk has evidence of you committing fraud, for the purposes of blackmailing me, he let your suppliers do business with you again.  Is that about right?”

“I suppose so,” Theo said. _I don't know half this stuff you're talking about anyways._

“Jesus, I’m amazed he could do all that from behind bars,” Foggy said, more to himself.

“Fisk has ways of getting around the FBI freeze, remember,” Matt said, shooting a look in Foggy’s direction.

 “What exactly does he want you to say anyways?” Marci asked Foggy.

“This.” Theo removed a piece of paper from his pocket. “Mr. Manning gave this to me while I was making sandwiches for him and his guards and you guys were talking in here.”

He slid the papers across the table to Foggy and Marci. Marci unfolded them and read the first page. That was a big mistake. What she read was enough to send her into a suppressed rage. _So he wants Foggy to discredit the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?! Claim he was threatened by Matt?! And what does he mean “in light of recent events”?! Is Fisk planning something with Daredevil we don’t know about?!_

“He said, ‘Mr. Fisk wants you to call a press conference no earlier than Saturday night and read the following,’” Theo said.

“Jesus,” Foggy scoffed, “You're calling him ‘Mr. Fisk’ now?” _Fisk doesn’t deserve that sort of formality._ “Can I see that, Marci?”

Marci sighed and slid the “speech” papers over to Foggy. _You’re not gonna like what they say, Foggy Bear._

"’I was acting under duress when I falsely and publicly accused Wilson Fisk of criminal activities,’” Foggy read from the script Felix had delivered to him, “’Daredevil has threatened the lives of my family, but in light of recent events, I now see that I did the wrong thing, that I must stand up for what's right.’” He looked up from the papers. _He wants me to smear Matt’s alternate identity in exchange for leaving my family alone. No. “_ I can't say this.” _And what the hell is this crap about me being threatened by Daredevil?_

“You have to!” Theo insisted.

“It's complete bullshit,” Foggy said. _I speak facts, not the “truth” Fisk wants people to believe. And why does he want me to wait until two nights from now, as opposed to tonight?_

“You know what's bullshit, Foggy? The fact that me and Mom and Dad are caught up in this in the first place!” Theo said, cheeks turning pink. “The only reason these people tricked us into that bank loan-“

“You knew it was fraud when you signed it!” Foggy fired back. _Okay, it's on me that Fisk knows about you, but you really shouldn’t have signed a bad loan without first talking to me!_

“Okay, yeah,” Theo conceded. _Still, we wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t pissed Fisk off._ “But it's only happening because Fisk wants to get to you. Everything that's happened, the suppliers cuttin' us off, the loan, all that shit's happened because you wanted to be the big-time lawyer! Instead of hangin' around here with us losers!”

“Come on, that's not fair,” Foggy said. _And you know that._ He could sense Matt, Karen and Marci being discomforted by the drama in the room. _Own up to your part in this, Theo. If you had consulted me first, Fisk wouldn’t be able to blackmail you._

“No, it's not,” Theo replied, sadly, “None of it is. We didn't have any say in this, Foggy! You all went and pissed off the biggest mob boss in the city, but we're the ones paying for it! Or we will if you don't do what he says!”

Foggy gestured to the piece of paper. _I’m sorry, Theo. But I’m not going to lie to the press. Not when he wants me to discredit Matt._ “If I read that statement to the press, after...whatever Fisk is doing with Daredevil here, that's letting him win, Theo,” Foggy insisted.

“He's already won, Fogg,” Theo said.

Matt had an idea. “No he hasn’t won,” he interjected, “not quite yet.”

Theo looked at Matt like he’d grown a second head. “How? It’s either he reads this, or I go to jail. Unless you’ve got something better, Matt?”

A thought came to Karen’s head. The loan officer was clearly on Fisk’s payroll as well. Maybe if they learned his name, they could bring him in and have him testify alongside Jasper Evans. Foggy’s family would be in the clear and they’d be out of Fisk’s grasp. 

“I might,” she said, hesitantly, “Do you remember the name of the loan officer you met with?”

“I believe his name was Stewart Finney,” Theo answered.

 _Stewart Finney._ Karen stiffened up almost instantly. _The guy Fisk befriended in prison._ “Goddamnit…” she cursed.

“You know him too?” Theo asked.

Karen sighed. “He’s another one of Fisk’s people,” she explained to Foggy, “Did time with him in prison and now manages his money at Red Lion.”

She looked to Matt, then to Foggy and Marci. She wanted to discuss a strategy to get Finney to talk, but not in front of Theo.

“Uh, thank you for your time, Theo,” Marci said to Theo. “We’ll call you back in if we need you.”

Theo reluctantly got up from his chair and stepped away. “It’s nice to see you again, Matt,” he said quietly as Matt stood up. "Hey y'know, Fog had this very epic speech about you the other day. You should've heard it for yourself. I think he's missed you greatly."

Matt nodded. “Take care, Theo. And listen, I promise, I’ll set some time aside to tell you about the whole Daredevil thing once this little storm with Fisk blows over.”

Theo gave a faint smile to Matt before stepping outside.

Karen and Marci turned to Matt. “Foggy, doesn’t that seem kinda strange that Felix doesn’t want you to give that press conference until Saturday night?” Karen asked. The fact that Felix’s “speech” included a part where Foggy was to claim that he was threatened by Daredevil seemed kinda strange, and it gave her an unsettling idea: perhaps Fisk was considering sending out someone to impersonate Matt as Daredevil. Given he knew Matt’s secret, and his connection to Foggy and Karen, what better way to hurt Foggy than make him have to lie about it.

“I’m more baffled why he wants me to lie about your alter ego, Matt,” Foggy replied. “He wants me to claim I was threatened by you.”

Matt went so pale that you would have thought Fisk himself had dropped by. He went so still and so silent that he was almost like a statue, but Karen could sense the panic and rage roiling beneath his skin.

“I think...he wants to have someone impersonate me,” he whispered. “Discredit all the work I’ve been doing.”

“Fisk knows that Daredevil is responsible for breaking up the better majority of his syndicate,” Karen nodded in agreement, “What better way to paint himself as the victim than try painting Daredevil as the villain?”

Marci tried to maintain a neutral expression, but Karen could see the horror in her eyes. She'd thought highly of Daredevil even before knowing the truth about who it really was; apparently she'd even harbored a little crush on him. “Is there anything we can do about that?”

“This is the first I’m ever hearing of that,” Matt said. He put his hand to his head, thinking…he would like to go to Melvin, but if Fisk found out he was snooping around at Melvin's shop, Fisk might call off whatever he was planning. There was only one real way to find out if Fisk really had plans to have an assassin pose as Daredevil to commit crimes, and it was not a pretty one. “Okay. I think we first have to find out where Fisk might want to stage an attack, assuming we can find another grunt who knows what might be happening. Once we know for certain where this assailant will be and when he'll be there, I take him down and hand him over to the cops.”

“It's not going to be as simple as that," Foggy said, skeptically. “Matt, if Fisk is hiring someone to smear you, he’s probably not using one of those Devil Worshipers who’ve been active in the Kitchen while you’ve been away. He’s more likely to use a professional, with training! Maybe not Stick levels but still, trained by experts! How are you going to take down someone like that?”

Matt couldn’t understand why Foggy wasn’t on board with the plan, since it involved hunting down someone and then letting the law handle them. Like he'd done with Hoffman, and was planning to do with Jasper Evans.

“I don’t necessarily have to take him down,” Matt said. “I just have to keep him occupied until the cops can show up. Then this guy gives up Fisk and/or Felix Manning as the one who gave the order. We get Fisk on conspiracy to commit murder and he ends up back in prison.”

Karen sighed heavily. As much as she supported Matt’s idea, she also had the bad feeling their first attempt to find this guy would go horribly wrong, remembering just what happened to Matt the first time he ever took Fisk on in a fight. “Worst case…your reputation goes down the shitter.”

“Karen-”

“Let me finish. You once pitched a guy off a rooftop, put him in a coma! Hell, you said it yourself, you once tried to kill Fisk! You think Fisk hasn’t forgotten that?! And considering how easily he got the press to think you were behind the bombings, and Detective Blake and those other cops who were killed, it wouldn’t be too hard to make them once again think you’ve escalated things! He gets away, and you’ll be public enemy number one for the NYPD again, and I doubt Brett or Misty will be able to do anything to help you!”

Matt refused to follow that train of thought to its natural conclusion, as much as he knew Karen had a valid argument. “Karen, I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Matt, this isn’t about being careful, this is about thinking ahead,” Karen said, “You’re not invincible, even less so now. God, ever since Midland Circle...” she trailed off.  That awful moment in the 29th Precinct three months ago when she'd realized Matt wasn't coming back from Midland Circle still freshly stung, even now with Matt back and them working together.

“How do you even go up against this guy if we don’t know who he is, where he’ll be or for matter, when he’ll be there?” Marci suddenly spoke up. "We might as well be hunting the Jackal."

Foggy had an answer before anyone else did. “…Jasper Evans?” he guessed.

“What are you getting at?” Matt asked him.

“Fisk must want him dead, right? Considering he must know we know about Evans?” Foggy posited, “He's the kind of loose end Fisk should be getting rid of soon now that his work is done. You find him, make yourself a target for Fisk to sic his guy on, and that's that. ”

“Oh no no no no,” Karen shook her  head, “Nope, nope nope, nope.” _Frank once used me as bait for the Blacksmith’s guys. It was not pretty._

“Karen, you dallied with Frank Castle on so many occasions,” Foggy protested. “And didn’t he use you as bait?”

“Yeah, he did, and I had to see the bloody mess he left afterwards,” Karen fired back. "I'm not gonna do it if that's the outcome this comes to."

“In your case, you knew the Blacksmith was coming for you. Here, we’re looking for a hypothetical guy who might or might not exist, but if he does, has a backer we do know. Fisk.”

 _Hence my Jackal analogy,_ Marci thought.

“I do agree we need Evans,” Matt interjected, “But not for the reason you suggest. If we can at least get him on record with the _Bulletin_ , we can damage Fisk’s reputation. And I think if we can get Stewart Finney to talk, we can maybe cut off Fisk’s funding.”

“Who were the lawyers that handled Finney’s case?” Marci asked.

“Caplan & Dahill,” Karen answered.

Marci’s lips curled up into a smile. “Caplan & Dahill? Oh, I’ll love to pop in and say hello to them.”

“What are they like?” Karen asked, intrigued.

“Well I told you, they were one of the firms that tried to recruit me out of law school,” Marci said, “Unfortunately, Landman & Zack beat them to me. I’ve gotten the benefit of being opposing counsel to them on a couple of real estate cases with Hogarth.”

 _So we have an opening to talk to Caplan & Dahill. _“What are Caplan & Dahill like?” Matt asked. He wondered whether they were straight-arrow attorneys or they were crooked ones.

“Charming,” Marci said, dreamily, “Lindsey Dahill, she has the vibes of an ambulance chaser from the West Coast, but it’s all an act to get her opponents to underestimate her. And Jimmy Caplan, he's much the same.”

“Great, let’s go talk to them,” Karen said, closing her laptop and getting up, “Find out if Fisk paid them anything to meddle in Stewart Finney’s case.”

Marci grimaced. _They’ll question your presence._  “Matt and I will handle that,” she declared.

“Marci, I gotta be there for this,” Karen protested. _I'm not being benched here._

“They might think your presence is a little odd,” she pointed out, “No offense, Karen, but...Matt and I have some good reasons to be there and...you don't."

Karen turned to Matt, hoping for a second opinion. His was, "Finney met Fisk in prison. Might be worth plying the _Bulletin_ to see if there’s anything on Fisk’s stay there.”

On that, Karen could agree. She was disappointed that she was being cut out of the interview with Finney's lawyers, but at least she'd still have something useful to do to make up for it. This reminded her, she'd informed Ellison of her suspicions that Fisk had a spy within the _Bulletin;_ now might be a good time to see if he'd found the leaker, if said leaker even existed..

“What do I do?” Foggy asked.

“Well…” Marci trailed off like she expected Foggy to finish the sentence.

“Well, what?”

“…You might as well keep up with the campaign like everything is perfectly fine,” she decided, “Convince the public that nothing is wrong. Maybe lower your profile. Hopefully, by the time Saturday night comes, we’ll have figured out what Fisk might be up to. If we find the imposter, or at the very least identify him, we might be able to duck out of this phony speech.”

“I hate this,” Foggy muttered.

“I know, Foggy Bear,” Marci said softly. “But hey, it’ll be over in a few days, hopefully.”

* * *

Karen took the N train back uptown to the _Bulletin_ , where she settled down in the inner sanctum that was her own office, opened up her laptop, and began researching every aspect of the Stewart Finney case to look for Fisk connections. Starting with his attorneys, Lindsey Dahill and Jimmy Caplan, founding partners of Caplan & Dahill.

The founding partners seemed clean. In fact, almost every one of the partners and associates was as squeaky clean as Marci suggested they were. They both handled a mix of criminal and civil cases, with Dahill specializing more towards fraud cases while Caplan handled a mixed bag of clientele. Between them, they had no recorded complaints with the Bar Association, no records of misconduct, or ethics violations, or even investigations by the Bar. And Finney seemed to fit right in with Dahill's criminal clients, most of whom were people just like Finney, guilty of minor offenses and handed down harsher sentences by overzealous prosecutors.

Fisk must have had something on the firm. If Karen could just figure out what he was planning to do with Daredevil and drag that out into the spotlight, maybe that would be enough to upset Fisk’s other plans.

While she was on the subject, Karen looked into Kendra Byrnes, Finney’s girlfriend. She was not surprised to see that Byrnes had previously worked at Landman & Zack, and was one of the few associates who'd avoided being arrested after Marci gave up the firm to the FBI. Byrnes had immediately taken a job at Donovan & Partners right afterwards, when they made her a lucrative job offer. While no one at either Donovan & Partners or the remnants of L&Z would confirm it, she suspected Byrnes may have been involved in the unscrupulous activities that Marci had reported.

Digging into Finney with the _Bulletin_ archives was a bit harder. Karen decided, since she’d already established how Finney came into contact with Fisk, that she was going to focus on Fisk’s stay there. Since Fisk controlled the guards and inmates at the prison, she suspected that he must’ve done something big in order to assert such massive influence over the prison. Enough influence to arrange Frank Castle’s escape, and also order a riot from the Presidential Hotel on the off-chance that Matt or Foggy visited the prison. To her dismay, there was nothing in the _Bulletin_ archives about prison corruption at Rikers. Even looking at Jennifer Many’s accompanying coverage of the Castle manhunt, she’d found nothing solid. Except for one article that Jennifer had written about two weeks after Castle’s escape, where she mentioned rumors that Castle had been aided by someone on the inside, though even there, she didn't go into any further detail as to what these rumors constituted.

Since the name had been dropped, Karen decided to do some background research on the Costa crime family. Ben turned out to have done stories about them as well. Their current head, according to the NYPD, was Lindsey Costa, a brunette woman with fair skin in her early 30s. A little research showed that she was a Columbia graduate and was best friends with Rosalie, who was old enough to be her aunt.

If Rosalie was a mafia queen, Lindsey was a mafia princess. She'd taken over as boss of her family's empire at age 26, after her father, Frank Costa, was murdered in a drive-by shooting on a Brooklyn street in the fall of 2012. Subsequently, she made a name for herself by usurping control of the family, making her one of the youngest mob bosses in town. She ran it with the aid of her advisor/lawyer/boyfriend Byron Hannigan, and her main enforcers, Luis Allegre, Leon Kolsky, and Matt Skinner.

The Costas had had a lengthy alliance with the Carbones that dated back to the 1970s. The two gangs dabbled in gun dealing, cocaine, waste disposal, corruption, and the importing of counterfeit goods, illegal cigarettes and exotic dancers, that kind of stuff, and this had continued even after both heads were taken out and their daughters took over the businesses. Lindsey had a stronghold on organized crime in the south part of Brooklyn. The police files she was able to obtain from the _Bulletin_ database didn't amount to much, but Karen was able to get just enough to realize that Lindsey's corruption network was structured similarly to the one Fisk was running. And with a little persuasion of Tomas, a contact of hers from the 65th Precinct, she learned something even more surprising: Lindsey had been secretly informing on competing gangs to an organized crime task force in Brooklyn for the past few years. She was blackmailing gangs and local criminals into paying her a street tax, in exchange for not getting turned in.

To put it another way, she had corrupt officials in her pocket that Fisk likely would want to obtain for himself to solidify his control of the underworld. There was no doubt in Karen's mind that a very young woman like Lindsey Costa would look like an easy target for him. And her geographic distance from Manhattan meant she probably didn't know much about what Fisk was truly capable of, beyond what she'd heard on the news. She probably only knew she was paying Fisk a tax that would ensure access to Fisk's connections, and wasn't aware of how much control over the FBI he exhibited.

It was perfect, Karen thought. Lindsey Costa had enough loyalty to Carbone, at least based on her preliminary research, that the two would certainly join forces to go to war with Fisk once given a reason.

Just where Lindsey lived, and where she conducted business, was another question. This was easy for Karen. All she had to do was turn to the property databases for south Brooklyn, and hunt through the indexes until she found property that was owned by Lindsey Costa. Turned out she had a nightclub on Surf Avenue near the Coney Island-Stillwell Avenue subway station, and a couple warehouses in northern Brooklyn, plus a bunch of various real estate holdings all throughout the borough. She lived alone in a penthouse duplex in a new condominium tower at the northeast corner of West Eighth Street and Surf Avenue, with beautiful views of the beach, the New York Aquarium and the Coney Island Cyclone. The complex had a doorman, an underground parking garage, and convenient access to the F and Q trains at the adjacent West Eighth Street-New York Aquarium station.

“Now we know where you live and where you work,” she whispered to herself, writing the address down on her cell phone. _I think we'll need to check out your place tonight, to crash whatever deal Fisk pitches to you._

Costa wasn't going to cave to the message over the phone, and a call might spook her. She and Matt were probably only going to get one shot at her, so they would need to play smart. _Break in, perhaps._

As long as Karen was on that subject of investigating Lindsey Costa, she decided to do a little research on Rosalie Carbone's organization as well. From what she was able to find there, it was a similar story for Rosalie as far as what she dealt in. She had a number of judges in Manhattan and the Bronx in her pocket, and even a few cops from the Harlem precincts. And she was extorting protection money from smaller gangs on the Upper West Side and West Harlem.

It was pretty clear why Fisk was picking the gangs he did: he was after the ones that had corrupt officials on their payrolls, and was going to put them out of business and pocket their connections. There was a lot of money to be made extorting protection money out of these guys in return for letting them continue to conduct business on the streets.

She was interrupted from her research on Costa when Ellison popped into her office.

“Hey,” she said, lips curling up into a small smile.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Uh, sure.” Karen stopped typing and glanced up at her boss. “You need something, Ellison?”

“You heard about the mugging that happened on Tuesday night near the Clinton Church?” he asked.

“Yeah, what about it?” she asked.

“Well, the NYPD are saying it was thwarted by a man in a black mask,” Ellison explained, “Fits the description of a certain vigilante who we thought was killed in Midland Circle. Do you know anything about that?”

Karen shrugged. _Matt never told me about that._ “I don’t know. Brett's told me there's a bunch of Devil Worshipers  popping up.”

“TJ was telling me the witnesses claimed it was Daredevil, that he identified himself by name,” Ellison said, “Thought you should know, seeing as he did save you twice.”

“What, am I this paper’s official reporter when it comes to masked vigilantes in the Kitchen?” she scoffed.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Ellison replied, sitting down on the edge of her office couch. "Might consider making a section for him, now that the real deal's back."

“Well, I’ve been busy helping my old boss hunt down leads on Fisk, so I'm a little behind,” Karen said, closing her laptop. She wondered if she should mention what she and Matt had found from their conversation with Foggy and Theo, then decided against it, as there really was no solid evidence that Fisk was up to something beyond the information in the “speech” Felix wanted Foggy to give.

“What have you got that we could run?” Ellison inquired.

Karen sighed. _At the very least, there’s no harm in mentioning Jasper Evans or the whole criminal racket Fisk is running._ “I'm onto something. I think I got a general idea of what Fisk is up to,” she declared.

"What's that?"

“He, uh, he’s running a shakedown racket from the Presidential. Seems that he’s trying to muscle gangs that have corrupt cops and politicians on their payrolls into paying him a street tax. ‘You pay me, and I’ll ensure you have protection from federal prosecution, if you don't, I'll snitch on you and take your connections for myself’ type thing.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ellison muttered.

“And no one’s said anything officially, not even the NYPD, but Daredevil contacted me this morning,” Karen said. “Apparently, after James Wesley died, Fisk promoted this Englishman named Felix Manning to replace him. Last night, Felix had meetings with Rosalie Carbone and Anibal Izqueda, who lead gangs up in Harlem that have been disrupted by Luke Cage in the past few months.”

“Izqueda’s dead,” he interjected, “He was gunned down last night in a parking garage, along a few of his guards.”

“I know that,” she resumed. “The NYPD is saying that it was gang-related, maybe even tied to the drive-by on the guy Matt and I were talking to yesterday at the A-Train just a few blocks from there. Anyways, Daredevil is telling me that Felix did it because Izqueda refused to pay Fisk tribute. I need a few more days to gather some more information, but I hope to have something we can run.” She neglected to mention the real way she and Matt obtained that information, suspecting that beating tips out of sources wouldn't go over too well with her boss. She also decided against disclosing the Costa angle; since that gang ran in Ellison's neighborhood, he probably knew some of their members and might insist on going with her. "Something that Fisk will have a hard time challenging if it's dragged out into the light."

Ellison stroked his beard as he processed Karen’s information. “If you’re going to put this to print, you’ll need to explain to me, and our viewers, how Fisk is making his money. The Feds seized and froze most of his assets when he was arrested.”

“Red Lion Bank,” Karen said, “He got assets that he squirreled away before he was locked up, which he’s been laundering through Red Lion into shell companies like Vancorp, the one he used to buy the hotel.” _Maybe I should mention Stewart Finney._ “There’s a guy at the bank who’s been helping Felix on that front. His name’s Stewart Finney.” She could’ve sworn she saw Ellison shift a little at the mention of Finney’s name. “Does that name ring any bells for you? A loan officer maybe, some position of finance, but I'm not really sure.”

Ellison scratched his beard. “Where is this, um…where's this info coming from?”

“A source I trust,” Karen said, truthfully. “She gave me a name, told me to dig. Said the guy works at Red Lion Bank and is being paid by Fisk, just like Felix Manning is.”

“And, uh, who is this source?” Ellison asked. He wanted to be sure it was a credible.

 _Does it matter?_ “It's just a source,” Karen replied, “I’ll tell you if it turns into anything.”

Ellison scratched his beard. “Oh yeah, him, the uh, the mortgage analyst. He was involved in this massive pump and dump scheme. Bilked millions of dollars out of some very powerful people. He got caught when he stole a couple million from the brother of some bigwig in the Justice Department.”

“Who?”

“Someone who had enough influence to keep his name out of the press,” Ellison replied, “It was a lot of money, though, and Finney pissed off a lot of other people who really wanted their money back. That was back in 2011.”

Karen nodded. “I see,” she said. “I’ve done some digging into him, and it looks like his conviction was overturned about a year and a half ago, but the article didn’t go into further details.”

“Finney’s lawyers apparently came into new evidence that allegedly proved he’d been railroaded by the system,” Ellison answered, “They claimed it had been withheld during his initial trial. On top of that, they claimed Finney was the target of a malicious and biased prosecution, and had been subject to a harsher sentence than he deserved.”

There was a moment of silence. Ellison’s description of Caplan & Dahill’s defense sounded vaguely like the sorts of defenses Donovan & Partners used for Fisk. _Since I trust Marci isn’t lying, I’m going to assume that this backs my presumption that Fisk got something on Caplan & Dahill._ “What did they argue?” Karen asked.

Ellison made a face. “Well supposedly, he was supposed to serve his sentence at a minimum security facility upstate, but the judge, for whatever reason, decided to make an example of him and had him thrown in the maximum security wing at Rikers.”

“The wing where Fisk was being held,” she spoke up.

Ellison narrowed his eyes at her. “You think that’s where he met Fisk?” he asked.

“I’m convinced that Finney’s been moving around Fisk’s money,” Karen replied, bitterly.

It was a little off-topic, but she decided this was as good an opportunity as they got to segue into asking Ellison whether Jennifer had done any digging to find out how exactly Fisk pulled off Frank’s escape. Or for that matter, how he was making his money. “In fact, uh, that brings up a somewhat related topic, but…what do we know about Frank Castle’s escape?”

Ellison made a face that read, _what does Frank have to do with Fisk?_ “Look, I know, I was busy being shot at and everything, and worrying the shit out of you, so I wouldn’t have known. But if I remember right, you had Jennifer looking into his escape, right? And she turned up nothing?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Well I got another source saying that Fisk may have orchestrated Castle’s breakout,” Karen said. “They’re telling me Fisk also had a guard pass a message to him telling him to sabotage his own trial.”

Ellison took a deep breath. “Well I only know what Jennifer pitched to me. They buried Castle in their highest security control unit, along with all the other rockstars on Cellblock D.”

“Cellblock D?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, why?” Ellison pondered. _How does she know this?_ Karen already knew about Cellblock D from some side digging she’d been doing into Fisk after he was convicted. It was where Fisk and some of the other more high profile prisoners were kept.

“Well, I like to keep track of people who are interested in me,” Karen said, defensively.

“Like the Punisher?” Ellison said, pointedly.

Karen rolled her eyes. _Gosh, Frank’s interest in me is for completely different reasons from Fisk’s interests._ “No. Wilson Fisk.” She got up, made her way around her desk, and started pacing. Although it was Matt who’d overheard that guard make a remark to Frank that seemed to be a message from Fisk, she figured she could lie and make up some sort of believable story about hearing it herself.  “When Castle was being brought to the witness stand, right before his outburst, I heard one of the guards tell Frank to think about what he wanted.”

“You think Fisk sent him?”

“Has to be,” she replied, “I mean, Castle blows the trial, gets sent to Fisk’s cellblock, and a day or so later he’s out on the streets. Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Those are two very separate dots, Karen,” he pointed out. “It could all be a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Karen admitted. _Except Jasper Evans is proof it’s not. If Fisk had enough influence to arrange for a smalltime crook like Evans to be released, the same could be done for Frank._ “But Matt gave me some info yesterday that says otherwise.”

“Which is?”

“According to Matt, Fisk hired a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him and make it look like he was being targeted for snitching,” she explained, “He also cooked the books and arranged for Evans to be released. Evans is supposed to be doing life for shooting and killing two people in a botched convenience store robbery back in 1991. If Fisk could arrange the release of a small fry crook like him, he certainly could’ve done that for Castle.”

Ellison made a face. “How does your former boss know all this?” he asked, skeptically.

Karen felt her heart racing, wanting to disclose that she picked up this information from Matt, but without revealing his abilities. “Matt risked his life yesterday to give me that. Apparently, Fisk tried to kill him at the prison. Orchestrated some big riot  in which he was supposed to be shanked.”

“There was a riot at the prison yesterday?” Ellison wondered how he could’ve overlooked such a big story. “Damn, I must’ve missed that.” _As did e_ _very other paper, evidently._

“Because Fisk didn’t _want_ anyone to find out,” she said, icily, “He has enough power to make all evidence disappear into a black hole. In fact, Matt claims that this stuff with Evans lines up with what he says he observed when he had a meeting with Fisk right after Castle got out.”

Ellison was hit with an idea. If they could get Jasper Evans in for an interview, the paper could easily humiliate Fisk with a single article. “That’s amazing work, Karen,” he said.

Karen beamed, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks.”

“Where is Evans now?” Ellison asked.

“I’m still working on that,” Karen answered. She made a face. “I swear to God, it’s like a phonebook, trying to find a guy in this city with such a common last name. Why do you ask?”

“You mitght bring him here,” he explained, “Soon. Perhaps if we do a story on him, we can do some serious damage to Fisk.”

“I’ll bring him in tomorrow,” Karen said, cheerfully.  That’s what she and Matt had been planning anyways, for once they’d disrupted Fisk’s partnership with the Carbones and the Costas.

Ellison nodded and prepared to step out of the office.  It was then that Karen realized she’d intended to ask him about what she’d said to him on the phone before the FBI took her to Foggy’s condo, concerning her suspicions that Fisk still had a mole in the _Bulletin_. “Hey how is your search for Fisk’s spy?” she asked.

Ellison stopped and turned around. "Not so good,” he said quickly, “If someone in our office is working for Fisk, they are being a lot more discreet about it than Caldwell was.”

“You haven’t told anyone else about that information that Ben uncovered about my…past activities?” Karen made a face that hopefully conveyed to Ellison exactly what she was referring to.

Ellison hesitated. “No, I haven’t discussed this with anyone,” he admitted, “It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Good,” Karen said, partially relieved, but still very much anxious. Fisk had access to very damaging information that could be used to ruin her reputation if he decided to run it in another paper. He could also damage Ellison as collateral, for knowing about it and not saying a word.

"You all right?" Ellison asked, reading the concern on Karen's face.

"Uh y-yeah," Karen said, her hand digging into the hem of her shirt, "I just...Fisk has gone around killing the few people who know the details about why I left Fagan Corners." She sighed. "That includes the sheriff who falsified the accident report, and my drug dealing boyfriend."

"You sure Fisk is behind these?"

"I don't have proof, but I'm convinced," Karen admitted, "You might want to get some personal security the next few days, just in case he comes for you."

After a few long seconds, Ellison slowly nodded and turned to the door. "I'll take that into consideration," he said as he exited, “I'm counting on you to deliver Evans for the scoop."

“I won’t, boss,” Karen said, forcing a smile as he closed the door behind him.

Karen sighed and took a deep breath. Ellison had given her some useful information about Fisk’s involvement with Frank Castle, but she needed to talk to the other person who actually had been on the ground covering the Punisher story during the jailbreak. And that was Jennifer Many.

Karen hoped that after having plied information from Jennifer twice in the past two days, first to gather her notes on the Fisk story and get Tanya Mills’ name, she would be willing to supply her with more intel. Or not. Worst case, Jennifer would use this as an excuse to reignite that war for the front page that she and Karen had had when Karen first started working for the paper. Not that Karen would care, as long as Fisk got put away.

So she exited her office and made her way across the hall to Jennifer’s office. As Karen knocked, and stepped inside, Jennifer looked up from her computer, where she was typing vigorously. She had the front page of yesterday’s _Bulletin_ lying next to her Macbook, open to the cover photo of the motorcade ambush, and was typing vigorously. She also had her iPhone sitting on top of the newspaper, on speaker. _Sorry I’m interrupting you in the middle of writing an article, but I need to talk to you._

Jennifer shot Karen an annoyed look as she took a seat in one of the chairs across from her, before resuming typing. Karen replicated the expression back to her.

“…So you’re saying that he used empty magazines as knives?” she asked whoever she was in the midst of talking to.

“That’s correct, at least, according to the forensics,” said the voice of Tammy Hattley.

Karen paused and felt her heart skip a beat as she recognized Hattley’s voice. The SAC of the New York FBI office’s Organized Crime division was doing a phone interview with Jennifer. _Why?_ She wondered what exactly Hattley was up to, giving an interview about what sounded like an internal investigation. Her mind wandered back to what she and Matt had discussed on the subway on Tuesday after they’d spoken to Hattley, about the suspicion that there were agents working for Fisk.

“I see,” Jennifer typed something down in her notes, “I see. And uh, is this the first time Poindexter’s used lethal force in his career? Another one of his colleagues said he’d had an incident last year.”

Karen froze, hearing the name of the agent who had accompanied Nadeem to their apartment, who had stopped her and Matt at the hotel elevators the other day.

“That would be true,” Hattley said, hesitantly, “He shot a guy on a raid who supposedly had been actively surrendering. OPR ultimately cleared him, though.”

“Uh-huh,” Jennifer replied, typing, “I got that. So, what, uh…what’s going to happen to him now?”

“He’s going to be suspended without pay, pending further investigation by OPR,”  Hattley said. “I don’t expect any charges will be pressed against him. You’d have to work very hard to find a jury that’d convict him in the state of New York.”

“When do you think he’ll be back on the job, if at all?”

“At best, within a couple months,” Hattley admitted.

Jennifer typed down more information. “Is that all you have?”

“I’ll call you if there’s anything else that comes up that you should know,” Hattley said.

“All right. Thank you for the call, Agent Hattley,” she said. “Goodbye.” She sighed and pressed the red button on her phone screen, ending the call.

Now that she wasn’t preoccupied, she let her annoyance with Karen barging into her office show. “What do you want now, Karen?” she asked, harshly.

“Who was that on the phone?” Karen asked, pretending not to have recognized the caller.

“What does it matter to you?”

“I know I’ve heard that voice before,” Karen shrugged, sheepishly. “And I need something else from you.”

Jennifer sighed, reluctantly. “That was Tammy Hattley. She’s, uh, the Special Agent in Charge running the agents protecting Fisk,” she said, “Apparently one of them’s under investigation for actions during the attack on Fisk’s motorcade on Monday.”

“Really?” Karen asked. She remembered Hattley saying something about that when she and Matt talked to her at the FBI office two days ago.

“You know Benjamin Poindexter?” Jennifer said, “The agent who killed the assassins who shot up Fisk's transport?" Karen nodded.  _I've gotten to meet him twice, by this point._ "Well, Hattley is telling me that evidently, he may have violated use-of-force guidelines with some of them. OPR's got some sort of investigation going on.”

“Huh,” Karen commented.

Jennifer scoffed. “Is that why you’re here? To ask me about the motorcade shooting?”

Karen smiled faintly. “I wish,” she said, “But I’m doing a story, also about Fisk, that might have to do with your coverage of the Frank Castle case.”

“You still care about Frank Castle, don’t ya?” Jennifer griped.

“Jennifer,” Karen warned, a knife in her voice, “I want to know everything there is to know about Castle’s brief stint in Rikers.” She exhaled. “It might have something to do with whatever Fisk might be up to.”

Jennifer sighed. “Anything specific?”

“In your article, you reported Castle's escape was thanks to inside help,” Karen said, “And that he was in the same wing of the prison that housed a bunch of the violent felons, like Fisk. There's a source on the story I’m doing about Fisk that claims that he may have arranged Castle’s escape.”

Jennifer straightened up. “You think Fisk pulled all that shit?”

“Yes,” Karen said.

Jennifer reached down to grab something from one of her desk drawers. “Funny. That’s what I thought, too.”

She produced two manila folders filled with notes and passed them across the desk to Karen.

"What had you found?"

“I came into contact with a guard that worked there,” she said, “He was paranoid. Afraid for his life, afraid that he’d be killed by his colleagues for knowing too much.”

“What did he say?”

“He claimed that Castle’s escape was the work of a guy running the prison’s underground economy who went by the codename of Kingpin.”

 _Kingpin. That’s a very generic moniker if that’s supposed to be Fisk._ “Fisk?”

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, “Guy claimed that Fisk used Castle to dispose of another crime boss who was being housed there, then arranged for Castle to walk out of prison.”

Karen began writing in her notepad. “Did you get a name? Concerning this boss?”

“His name was Dutton,” she shrugged, “Richard Dutton. Allegedly, he ran an underground contraband ring at Rikers. Controlled 80% of the product flowing in and had most of the guards in his pocket. After he died, Fisk assumed control over the entire operation.”

Karen thought something was off in Jennifer's voice. Ellison had a hard-on for stories concerning Fisk, ever since Ben died. And Jennifer had come into such a story, yet she had chosen not to mention Fisk's name. “I see you didn't bring up Fisk's name at all when you ran the article," she commented, "Even though you say Castle likely had help from the inside."

“I decided it wasn't worth mentioning,” Jennifer answered.

“Because?” Karen asked. _If you’d ran it, Fisk might be still locked up, if not completely removed from power._

“'Cause I'm a reporter," she said, a hint of sarcasm, "I don’t run stories with information that hasn’t been verified by at least two sources-“

“No, no, Jennifer, don't get sarcastic, please! You come off like Ellison when you do that!” Karen felt a bit exasperated. “Why?”

“The guy had no evidence of Fisk's involvement, Karen,” Jennifer said, resisting the urge to yell. She exhaled. “I mean, look, the only source he could provide to corroborate his claim that Fisk was running the prison was another guard who refused to go on record.”

"So you decided to keep that little bit about Fisk out of the article?" Karen narrowed her eyes at Jennifer. She was convinced that there was more to it than just Jennifer not having enough sources. “Jennifer, you know that when we run into stories where Wilson Fisk is even remotely involved, you have an obligation to inform Ellison about it.”

“Believe me, Karen, I know,” Jennifer replied. Her voice and demeanor had suddenly changed. She was no longer the confident reporter that had tried to one-up Karen. She seemed rather disturbed and fearful. She sighed wearily. “I just…can you keep a secret?"

"Yes," Karen whispered.

Jennifer continued, in a much lower voice. "I underestimated what Fisk does to those who threaten his enterprise.”

“…what happened?” Karen asked, concerned. “Did something happen?”

Jennifer closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The guards who refused to go on record, all of them told me they'd been visited by this old Englishman. His name was Felix Manning.”

“Felix Manning?” Karen asked. _That old guy’s got his hands everywhere._

“You know him?” Jennifer inquired, noticing the look on Karen’s face.

Karen grimaced. “Just…go on,” she said, quietly. _I get it. Felix threatened your source._

“A couple of them warned me that if I mentioned Fisk by name and accused him of carrying out the Castle jailbreak, Fisk was going to send someone to take me out,” Jennifer replied, “Fisk has a big grudge against the _Bulletin_ , ever since we turned Caldwell over to the Feds."

"Fisk indirectly threatened to have your sources killed if the sources talked to this paper?" Karen said.

Jennifer sighed. “You could say that.”

“You didn’t bother taking this to Ellison, or the NYPD?”

Jennifer felt tears forming in her eyes. “You think you were the only one who had a father-daughter thing with Ben, Karen?” she swallowed. “He was the one who brought me in, saw an up and coming star. He was the one who taught me all that mattered when it comes to pursuing a story. And after what Fisk did to him, and tried to do to you, I didn’t want to take any chances of meeting the same fate as him. So I decided to just omit all references to Fisk and run the rest of the article.”

Karen sat there silently. “I get it,” she said, sympathetically, “You’re worried for your family’s wellbeing. But…Ellison would’ve backed you up. I’m sure he’d have been happy to help protect your source.”

Jennifer searched her face. She said, softly, “The kinds of people-“

"I know exactly what kind of person Fisk is," Karen said through gritted teeth.

"You’re a lot more like Ben than I've wanted  to give you credit," Jennifer said, a flicker of a smile on her face. "I can see why Ellison's had this soft-spot for you. He was as determined to get to the bottom of stories as you are, and he paid for it with his life."

“I’m going to stop him, Jennifer,” Karen said, “I guarantee it.”

She gathered the folders Jennifer had pulled out and took them back to her office for further examination. All she hoped was that there was something in these files that indicated just who Fisk was close with while he was locked up, besides Finney, and something solid that said just where his money was coming from.

* * *

**The Law Office of Caplan & Dahill:  
**

28 Liberty Street was a tall and imposing skyscraper amidst the skyline of the Financial District. Nestled between Pine, Liberty, Nassau, and William Streets, it stood 813 feet tall, with 60 floors and five basement levels.  It was all glass and steel chrome, looking like an enormous steel-framed rectangle sticking out of the ground. It looked like a relic of the 1960s era, to the point that Marci would be forgiven for thinking that Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was headquartered here. It was also the home to Caplan & Dahill, where Marci had managed to secure a late afternoon appointment with Lindsey Dahill, lead attorney on Stewart Finney's case.

Matt said very little as he and Marci took the 2 train down to Wall Street, which, apparently, according to Marci, had a direct entrance into the building, ensuring that they could directly go from the train into Caplan & Dahill without being seen outside. The whole way down, Marci clicked her tongue and Googling every imaginable thing about Caplan & Dahill that she could find. There wasn’t anything sketchy or suspicious to set off any red flags for her, so she figured the firm was as clean as ever. She’d dealt with Caplan, and with Dahill, in arbitration and in court, and it wasn’t too unusual for members opposing one another in court to be good friends when they were outside of court. They all knew it was just the way things were, dealing with clients who had opposing agendas. There was never anything personal between the lawyers.

“What do you know about Caplan & Dahill?” Matt asked as they left 34th Street-Penn Station.

“I mean, not a lot,” Marci said, earnestly. “They started in 2002, right after 9/11. Caplan’s a Harvard grad. Graduated magna cum laude, clerked for the Second Circuit Court of Appeals and the Delaware Chancery Court. Dahill’s from Yale, started off as an associate at the New York office of Kirkland & Ellis, did a couple of years at Milbank, two at Fried Frank, and then she joined Caplan’s solo practice and expanded it greatly. They handle a bunch of corporations and powerful people all over the city. They also have a satellite office in Chicago that handles a lot of their big corporate clients. Stark, Rand, Roxxon, you name it.”

“Clean or dirty?”

"Very clean," Marci said, "They dot their I's and cross their T's." She hesitated. _There was that James Bond movie where Bond got made because his record was too clean._ "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Matt answered. He figured Fisk would want to be sure to bury whatever he had on Caplan & Dahill so it wouldn't be traced.

 _I wonder if Marci's acquainted with Finney's squeeze._ So long as they were on the subject, Matt decided he might ask Marci, as the resident shark, if she was acquainted with Kendra Byrnes. He bit his tongue and asked, “Do you know anything about Kendra Byrnes?"

Marci leaned forward a bit in her seat. Matt could sense her eyes fluttering. “Kendra Byrnes?” she asked. _That crooked bitch from L &Z?  _ “You know her?”

“I didn’t know until this morning,” he said. “How do you know her?”

Marci looked both ways in the crowded subway car to make sure no one suspicious was watching them. “She used to work in the real estate division at Landman & Zack. She was one of those who avoided indictment when the FBI shut down the firm." She rolled her eyes. "God, they didn't look closely enough."

"What do-"

"Well no one’s ever said anything out loud. But Kendra tampered with a lot of Fisk's real estate cases,” she whispered, “She also was in on the whole scheme of Tully's to drive people out of the tenements where Tully wanted his condos.” She took a deep breath. "She also handled the Silver & Brent account and assisted Owlsley with money laundering schemes."

“She’s Stewart Finney’s girlfriend,” Matt explained.

Marci paused. “She—she is?”

“Karen was doing some research into property records last night,” he said, abruptly, “She lives with Finney in a two-bedroom condo out in Brooklyn. And you’re not gonna believe this, she now works at Donovan & Partners.”

“Fisk’s law firm? Holy shit…” Marci shook her head in disbelief. _Donovan & Partners must have made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. _“Guess we know who the new Landman & Zack are.”

They remained silent through the station stop at 14th Street.

 _“This is: 14 th Street,"_ the voice of Dianne Thompson came over the automate announcements. This was followed by Charlie Pellett's voice. " _Transfer is available to the: 1, F, L, and M trains. Transfer is available to the M14 Select Bus Service. Connection is available to PATH trains.”_

The train came to a stop, and the doors opened on the right side.

_"This is a Brooklyn-bound 2 express train. The next stop is: Chambers Street."_

A couple dozen passengers filed in and out of the car; some boarding, some transferring to/from the L train to go to Williamsburg and Canarsie, some to/from to the F and M trains over on Sixth Avenue, and some changing to/from the express to the local.

Marci took this opportunity to ask Matt a question that had been racking her brain since they'd walked into the butcher's shop. If Fisk knew Matt was Daredevil, and may or may not be planning to send an imposter out to smear him, why send the FBI after Foggy? Wouldn't it make more sense to go after the guy who singlehandedly made a mess of his organization? "Can I ask you something, Matt?" she asked quietly.

"Shoot." Matt shrugged his shoulders.

"Why is Fisk deciding to hurt Foggy Bear? I--I just don't get it. I mean, you and Karen were the ones  who did most of the work to bring him down."

Matt sighed. "Revenge by proxy, maybe?" he suggested.

"I mean, Fisk knows you're Daredevil, why not send his forces after you?" she asked.

There was only one possible reason for that. The potential that someone was going to impersonate Matt. "Okay, remember what we said back at the shop about Felix's speech and him wanting it held off until Saturday night, implying that Fisk will hire a Devil Worshiper to pass as me?" he said. "If that's what he's doing, he'd want me to stay on the streets where I'll be more readily hunted by the cops."

Marci let out a long breath. "You don't think Fisk's going to tell anyone about this? I mean, he outs you, you to go to jail, and inmates who got put away thanks to you will get a turn to exact their revenge."

Matt laughed and shook his head. "Even if not for whatever he's planning, I think it's the sort of thing he'd keep reserved to himself and maybe his innermost circle. He's not gonna tell this to the guys who conducting his dirty work on the streets, especially the ones who are more inclined to crack under pressure."

"And if he changes his mind?"

Matt's face turned grim. "Hopefully, I'll have dealt with him before he gets to that point."

The doors closed and the train pulled out of the station.

“So…Caplan & Dahill tried to recruit you?” Matt asked, hoping to inject some levity into the conversation.

“Yeah, at the end of the day, it was a very tight race between C&D or L&Z as to which one would secure me as an associate,” she smiled wistfully. “C&D entered me into their lottery to interview at the Plaza. I made the cut that got callbacks to interview at the law firm proper. But it was around that same time that L&Z leaped in and tried to recruit me.”

“You joined them right after Foggy and I left,” he recalled.

“Crashed and burned is more like it.” She gave him that wide “underestimate me if you dare” smile, not that he could see it. “Like I said last night. L&Z came around that time, and they were a bit more aggressive. They offered me a bigger salary, a corner office, a fast-track to partnership.” She giggled. “It was a little too tempting, I guess. I should’ve known I was getting involved in a crooked practice.”

“I think Karen had a point about why you love reading _The Firm_ ,” Matt smirked.

 _I didn’t steal money from them, though._ “Only difference is I cooperated with the right people to ensure that the criminal client got locked up,” Marci clarified.

They spent a few more minutes sitting in relative silence as the train raced through stop after stop headed to Wall Street.

“You sure you’re up for interrogating the partners?” Matt asked as they exited the train onto the crowded and narrow island platform at Wall Street.

“Anything that helps Foggy Bear with his campaign,” Marci said, shifting her purse around in an attempt to wade through the crowd without losing it. “You’re not gonna beat any of them, are you?”

“Sometimes, you have to apply enough pressure to a crack to get the glass to break.”

“Is that your way of saying 'we'll pin them down and get them to give up a more important guy who gives them orders'?”

“My way was more poetic.”

“If you say so.” She sighed.

“I’m betting that whatever crookedness is going on, it's more hidden than L&Z,” Matt said as they made their way up the stairs, “Fisk probably has something on Caplan & Dahill to leverage them that doesn’t involved bribery.”

Marci came to a stop in the middle of the fare control. A guy in a sharp business suit accidentally bumped into her. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “Are you telling me that they’re a front for Fisk too?”

“Not voluntarily, I don’t think.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” For a moment, Marci’s voice sounded high and reedy, even to her. “I’m not—I’m not a judge like my dad. We should be taking this to the cops, not to  Foggy Bear and the press!”

“Yeah,” Matt said, “But the NYPD aren’t really cut out to handle the matters of issue here.”

“Jesus.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

As they rode up the elevator to the 56th floor, where Caplan & Dahill’s offices were located, the two lawyers were both as anxious as ever. It wasn’t just the whole thing with Foggy being targeted by Fisk that put them on edge, but the fact that his family was being used to blackmail him.

“I hate this,” Marci muttered. “Having to interrogate people who are essentially friends of mine in this fraternity/sorority.”

“I know the feeling,” Matt said, solemnly.

“What I _want_ ,” Marci said, grinding her teeth, “more than anything in the world, is for someone to get me access to Fisk, so I can beat the fucking snot out of him. Barring that, I will settle for someone in a black mask _making his life a walking hell,_ where he’ll spend every day begging for the sweet release of death.”

She was scaring the living shit out of Matt, to be entirely honest.

“Marci,” he said, “Are you still sure you're up for this?”

“Interrogating another lawyer about illegal shit?” Marci asked. “Yeah, I can do it.” She let the floor numbers tick by for a few seconds. “Have you done this before?”

“Karen and I roughed up Donovan on Tuesday. Frankly, that slimeball deserved it,” Matt grinned mirthlessly.

Marci couldn’t help but emit a soft giggle. “Yes, if he could only get a job working for Maurice Levy in Baltimore.”

Matt laughed. He was pretty sure that was a movie reference.

“Let’s do this.”

Marci was quiet for a moment. Then she straightened up, until her spine was so taut it could snap at the slightest provocation. “Don’t threaten anyone while we’re in there, okay? It’d look bad," she said.

“I think the Bar would frown upon that," Matt laughed.

The interiors of Caplan & Dahill were like something out of the 1960s. Everything was made out of glass and steel. Marci smoothed down the front of her suit and folded her hands neatly behind her back as she and Matt approached the reception desk. Matt, on the other hand, had his legs spread and cane extended, as if he was about to pick a fight.

She heard a door open, and close. Marci wiped her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirt, and put on her sassy smile. Lindsey Dahill looked almost exactly like Marci remembered her from the job interviews. Early 40s, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, with a power suit that cost at least twice as much as the silver gray one Marci was wearing right now. Her face was wreathed in a smile as she came towards Matt and Marci, hands outstretched. “Marci Stahl! It’s so lovely to see you!”

“Nice to see you too, Lindsey Day,” Marci grinned.

Lindsey stopped and turned to Matt. "Who's your fr-"

“Matt Murdock,” Matt introduced himself. Lindsey hesitantly extended her hand forward, uncertain what the etiquette was for shaking hands with a blind man, even a fellow lawyer.

"She wants to shake your hand," Marci said quietly to Matt.

"Nice to meet you," Matt smiled and allowed Lindsey to shake his hand.

“I didn’t realize Hogarth was doing diversity hires,” she said as she let go of his hand.

“He’s not—working for us, I wish he was, but he’d have issues with Hogarth’s ethics,” Marci started.

“Oh, we’re—we’re not…together. I’m helping Marci with a personal matter,” Matt said simultaneously.

Marci laughed awkwardly. “And he’d have too many clashes about our choice of clientele.”

“I’ve heard all about you, Murdock,” Lindsey said, pursing her lips, “That was some brilliant work you pulled in the Aaron James case. $11 million.”

Matt smiled and leaned on his cane with both hands. “Just doing my job.” _Don’t remind me that that was my last big case before Midland Circle. At least Ajax can suck it._

“A guy who can win cases like that shouldn’t be working pro bono,” Lindsey gave Matt a disapproving face, “He should be on our team.” She turned back to Marci. “Much like you should have.”

“Yeah, biggest regret of my life, thank you,” Marci snarked.

“Well, you landed on your feet just fine,” Lindsey commented.

“If that’s code for saying ‘working for a shark who bribed a committee into giving her a reward celebrating women's achievements in law,’ then, yeah. I suppose.”

“Such an offer would be tempting, but I prefer to pick and choose my clients,” Matt chuckled. _Plus, L &Z showed that I’d be forced to deal with pretty questionable clients who are more interesting in burying problems than doing the right thing._

Lindsey focused back on Marci. “It’s been a while since we last…interacted with each other outside of a conference table or a courtroom,” she said.

“Only a month!” Marci protested, playfully.

“So uh, what brings you two here? Is there a case going on that I didn’t know C&D was involved in or-?”

“Yeah, there is,” Matt said, loudly, cutting her off. Lindsey looked surprised, at first. Then her eyes widened slightly. “There’s a very urgent matter that we need to discuss that I do not want to talk about in public where people can listen in on us.”

Lindsey blinked at him. Then she blinked again. Marci noticed she was glancing at the bandage Matt had over his left eye (Matt had said he’d gotten that from the prison riot yesterday). “Mr. Murdock,” she said, unctuous as oil, “is that a bruise on your eye?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, schooling his face. He hoped that a simple lie would suffice. “Hit my head in the subway a few days ago.”

“You should learn to be more careful,” Lindsey said, uncertainly.

“That’s what Marci’s here for.” He sensed Marci smile earnestly. “Typically, I have Karen helping me navigate the trains but she’s busy, so I settled for Foggy’s belle. But, like I said, this isn’t about an ongoing case, but about something that happened in the past.”

Marci pretended to check her phone. “This is just a courtesy visit. Frankly, it’d be much easier just to meet with Karen Page from the _Bulletin,_ but she is busy.”

“What do you want?”

“Lindsey,” Marci sighed, "can we go to your office?”

Lindsey wavered, but after a few moments of staring down Marci, she began walking in the direction of her office. Matt and Marci dutifully followed, Matt allowing Marci to guide him by her elbow. Lindsey didn’t say anything more, which was good. Matt was not certain he’d be able to keep himself from punching someone or something if it turned out Fisk had control of this law firm as much as he did Donovan & Partners, and L&Z before that.

Entering Dahill’s office, Matt paused to get a sense of his surroundings. Her office was about the size of his living room and kitchen space combined. There was the faint scent of carpet cleaner, which accented the smell of the mahogany wood that adorned the walls and furniture. In one corner of the office was a circular table with a few chairs placed around it. Behind her desk were floor-ceiling windows that, if he weren’t blind, would offer him a commanding view of the surrounding skyscrapers, Bowling Green, the Ferry Terminal, and Staten Island.

“What exactly is this all about?” Lindsey asked as she sat down in the big wingback chair behind her desk. “Tell me you didn't come to ask me to write a check out to Foggy's little campaign."

Matt and Marci sat down in two comfy armchairs opposite her. Matt inadvertently bumped into his chair and winced as he sat down. He folded his cane up and put it in his inner coat pocket, while Marci dropped her handbag next to the desk.

Marci’s brow furrowed at the mention of Foggy's name. “Uh, no, I'm not here about Foggy Bear's run.”

Lindsey clasped her hands in front of her. “It was in all the papers this morning. I never thought Foggy was the kind of person who’d shoot for City Hall.”

Marci and Matt laughed awkwardly. “Neither did I,” Matt admitted, “It was Marci’s idea, actually.”

“Foggy Bear’s pretty passionate about this whole Fisk situation,” Marci said, “Frankly, I am too. There were a _lot_ of attorneys at Landman & Zack who were working with Fisk. Like, 85% of them, to be precise.”

“Fuck Parish Landman,” Lindsey said, indignance in her voice. “I’m kinda glad you turned him in, Marce. That firm was leaving a very big black mark on all of our reputations.”

“Foggy and I interned with them,” Matt said, “Fortunately, we got out like a couple years early.”

"The odds are really stacked against him, I'd say," she said, "Blake Tower's got a good chance of being reelected, especially as the guy who's cleaning up the D.A.'s office in light of everything that Reyes did."

"I like the long shots," Matt said.

Lindsey shifted her attention to Matt. "You mentioned a reporter at the _Bulletin_ , so I’m guessing it’s more serious than you two came to ask me to write a check. Which I'd still be happy to do if you want it.”

Matt sighed, lowered his head, and took off his glasses. “Miss Dahill…”

“Please, you can call me Lindsey, Matt,” Lindsey said, softly.

“…Lindsey,” Matt gathered his thoughts, “We’d like to know more about a case your firm handled about a year or so ago involving a guy named Stewart Finney.”

“That’s ancient history,” Lindsey said, her heart skipping a beat, “Mind telling me why you’re so interested in his issues?”

Marci curled her lip. "There are some allegations...disturbing ones, I may say, that there were...discrepancies in his case. And allegations that you may have rigged things to ensure his appeal succeeded.”

Lindsey froze and her eyes went wide at the realization of what Matt and Marci were talking about. Her heartrate changed as well. _Finney? Stewart fucking Finney?  They don't know the whole story.  
_

“I...I'm not at liberty to discuss that case without a court order…” she stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Marci said, coldly, “Your reaction gives it away.”

“We think your firm was involved in misconduct, possible jury and evidence tampering,” Matt said. “That you and your colleagues engaged in this and it was never reported to the Bar Association.”

Lindsey’s heart was pounding frantically. There was distress in her voice. “Okay, seriously, where are you getting? I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“I think you know very well,” Matt rose from his chair, but Marci grabbed him by the arm and firmly planted him back in his seat. _Not that I want to punch Dahill. I want to punch something solid like a wall or table._ But there was a stronger scent being emitted from her body: the smell of fear. “Someone’s gotten to you, haven’t they?” _I’ve just dealt with similar spiels from Silvio Manfredi and from Felix Manning._ "Who?" _  
_

“People who are good at that sort of shit, Murdock,” Lindsey clarified, softly.

Matt placed his hands on his hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his slacks. _Trust me, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of these people. James Wesley, Ben Donovan, Felix Manning…_ Marci stood and folded her arms across her chest.

“Who are they?” Marci asked, softly. She was angry that Fisk had indeed threatened someone she considered a bit of a frenemy, but she wasn’t going to go volcanic about it now. “Who are the people who coerced you into tampering with Finney’s case?”

“Who was it?” Matt asked. “Ben Donovan? Wilson Fisk?” Lindsey’s eyes widened at the mention of Fisk’s name in this context.

“Finney is out there, laundering Fisk’s money through phony shell companies,” Marci said, resisting the urge to shout, “Tricked my boyfriend’s family into engaging in fraud to get a bank loan. And your firm is the one who got him sprung! How much did Fisk pay you to do that?”

“Marci...please…” Lindsey sighed. “If I tell you, I’m a dead woman.”

“A lot of people are going to die for every day Fisk stays out of prison!” Marci whispered harshly, “FBI’s going all over Foggy Bear thanks to him! What does Fisk have on you?!”

“You worked for a Fisk-controlled law firm, Marci,” Lindsey countered, “Surely you know that when Fisk tells you to do something, you do it or you get whacked. And that he doesn’t like rats.”

Marci made a disgusted sound. _Way to rub salt in a wound._ “ _Please_ ,” she pleaded, “Foggy Bear’s  in trouble and the client you sprung for Fisk is the cause of it. They don’t deserve to go to jail for something that’s not their fault.”

She could swear she saw Lindsey’s resolve cracking.

“If it makes it easier, we’re not going to take this to the police or the Bar,” Matt said, soothingly, “And we’ll find a way to keep your names out of the papers.”

Lindsey pulled out a remote control and pressed a button. Within moments, automated shades were lowered across every one of her windows, dimming the view of the skyline. Marci suspected that she was doing this to keep lipreaders from possibly viewing them through binoculars.

She exhaled deeply. “We doing this on or off the record?” she asked.

“If that makes you more willing to talk, off the record.” Matt shrugged his shoulders and sat back down in his chair. Marci took several deep breaths as she composed herself for the interviewing process.

“So, Stewart Finney, how did your firm become acquainted with him?” Matt asked once Marci was seated.

Lindsey leaned forward in her chair. “He hired us back in 2011. He was being accused of running some sort of pump-and-dump scheme through which he managed to skim from a bunch of his clients.”

“How much are we talking?” Marci asked.

“A couple million,” Lindsey answered, “According to the US Attorney’s office, he’d been doing it for years while working his day job, as a mortgage analyst for Empire Credit Union.”

“I’m guessing since he got convicted, that the case against him was pretty strong,” Matt observed. _And someone clearly pulled strings to ensure that._

“No kidding,” Lindsey flicked at one of the folders on her desk, “The last guy he’d managed to filch from before he got caught was this brother of some guy with a very high position of influence in the Justice Department. And he kept a lot of documentation on hand as insurance.”

Matt stroked the stubble on his chin. He had suspected that the DOJ bigwig's influence had a hand in putting Finney away at Rikers. “Ordinarily, I’d guess that a guy like Finney would be sent away to some minimum or even medium security prison,” he said, “Is there a reason why he was put in general population at Rikers? Housed alongside mobsters and murderers?”

“That was the judge’s call,” Lindsey corrected him, “Caplan and I tried to appeal the sentence, but the judge refused to negotiate. He wanted to make an example out of Finney. Made some convincing arguments that swayed us. ‘There are politicians who’d be upset if he got sent elsewhere,’ blah blah blah. So we let the matter go and moved on to other fish.”

“I see…” Marci clicked her tongue. “Did you ever do anything with Finney’s case after that?”

“He still owed us retainer money,” Lindsey hastily responded, “Our billable hours aren’t exactly cheap. I know he took a job on the prison staff as a janitor to raise a little money, but it’s not the fastest way to pay the bills.”

“I get that.” _I’m guessing Fisk must’ve bolstered Finney’s retainer to ensure they reopened his case._ “So, how were you persuaded to reopen his case?”

Lindsey clenched and unclenched her hands. “It was in June 2015 that we got an unexpected visit,” she said, “Benjamin Donovan from Donovan & Partners came by personally. He told us that he was speaking on behalf of an interested third party that wanted to reopen Finney’s case, and bolster Finney’s retainer fee.”

 _Fisk_. “Did he say who the third party was?” Matt asked. _Stupid question. Donovan probably wouldn’t use Fisk’s name in such a transaction._

“Not right away,” she said, “Look, Ben Donovan represents a lot of mobsters in this city and a bunch of the politicians as well. You know, he got his start working for Mama Mabel back in the day…”

“I know who she was,” Matt replied, “And I know about his work with Mariah Dillard and Fisk.”

“I figured that out with a little research from a private investigator,” Lindsey replied, “I'm sure you're familiar with Pryce Cheng, Marci? Your firm uses him.”

Marci nodded. _The Chinese-American private eye Jessica hates._ “Very…well…” she said, slowly.

“He determined that Fisk had approached Finney and was using him to keep tabs on other prisoners,” Lindsey explained, “Unfortunately, the undercover he sent into the prison got made and was shanked. He died, but not before passing a message on from Fisk that we were to pull out all the stops to get Finney out of jail, and to get his case thrown out. And if we didn’t do that, he’d arrange horrible accidents for all of us.”

The silence hung in the air, taut. Then Matt scoffed.  “What was your hand in this subversion of justice?”

“I did most of the heavy work,” Lindsey said, sheepishly, “My job was to go discredit all the witnesses who testified against Finney at his original trial. My junior associates were responsible for the appeal prep work and destroying any incriminating evidence.”

"Caplan had no hand in this?"

"No, he didn't," Lindsey answered. "I told him to stay out of this and for good reason."

“And how much did Fisk _handsomely_ pay you to do this?” Marci folded her hands neatly in front of her. 

“Triple our usual billing rate.”

“And you never asked where the money came from?” Marci asked. “He lost most of his funds when he got locked up."

“We never asked for the sake of plausible deniability. Especially given the death threats.”

“…I see. Not literally, but metaphorically." _I think that handles everything._ Matt unfolded his cane, put his glasses back on, and stood up. Marci, taking his cue that they were leaving, grabbed her bag off the floor and heaved it onto her shoulder. “Thanks for taking this time out of your day to see us, Miss Dahill,” Matt said politely.

“You’re gonna get that bastard, are ya?”

“If you mean put him back in the cell he belongs in, yes,” Marci nodded once. “Matt?”

Matt slipped his arm around Marci’s elbow for guidance and they began stepping towards the door.

 “Hey Marci?” Lindsey asked, her tone now slightly more amiable. Matt and Marci stopped, and turned their heads around to face her direction. “Give my regards to Hogarth. She still doing all right, ever since uh, the, uh, diagnosis?”

 _Jeri’s ALS isn’t as secret as she wishes it were._ “Uh, she’s doing fine,” Marci forced a smile, “I’ll tell her you said hello.”

She and Matt resumed walking.

“So when we do get Finney?” Marci asked.

“Tomorrow,” Matt said, “After Karen and I break up Fisk's new deal with the Carbones.”

“You sure that’s gonna work?” she made a face as she pounded the elevator button.

“Hopefully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Stewart Finney, if you remember, was the black inmate played by Korey Jackson who befriended Fisk on his first day in jail in season 2. He wasn't even so much as mentioned in season 3, which I felt was pretty strange considering how they made a point of him appealing to Fisk as a fellow businessman ("We're not savages like these guys in here, that's all"), and Fisk using his reserve funds to secure the loyalty of Finney and the Valdez brothers as he bided his time studying Dutton for weaknesses.
> 
> Since they mentioned Finney was a former mortgage analyst before he got sent away, and Fisk mentioned bolstering Finney's retainer fee, I imagine Fisk would want to reward Finney with a release from prison and a job laundering his money at Red Lion Bank. And from what he was locked up for, I thought, he'd be the ideal person to trick Foggy's brother into cooking the butcher shop's books. 
> 
> \--Yes, I lifted an exchange from _The Untouchables_ almost verbatim in the verbal spar Felix has with Matt, Karen and Marci, but it just seemed...so right (the original scene was the one where a corrupt alderman with the looks of Arthur Slugworth tries to bribe Elliot Ness on behalf of Al Capone).
> 
> \--Let's just say Felix is being a bit overconfident here in letting slip enough details for Matt to figure out that there might be an imposter at hand.


	17. War Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen train as they prepare to instigate war between Fisk and his allies. Fisk finalizes his plans for Dex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a tough one to write, since I haven't written a fight scene in a while. And I had a hard time deciding what to use in Matt and Karen's training scene, which borrowed inspiration from a couple of other fics' training scenes in Fogwell's. "What They Wouldn't Do" by Ashevillain was a particularly big inspiration.

 

* * *

**Fogwell's Gym:  
**

Of all the places Matt could work out, Karen never really thought it would be a boxing gym like the ones she saw in the _Rocky_ movies. Fogwell’s at 49th and Ninth was just that. Its walls were lined with yellowed and peeling posters advertising matches from its heydey in the 1980s and 1990s. The place definitely looked like it was in need of a little fixing-up. The main workout floor was bathed by the glow of the fading daylight through the smudged floor-to-ceiling windows. There were a couple of punching bags hanging in one corner, a few ellipticals and treadmills, and a large boxing ring in the center.

Karen hadn’t come straight from the _Bulletin_. She had stopped by the apartment to change into more appropriate workout clothes. In this case, a bright red, button-up blouse and gray skirt, with her hair tied up in a bun. It nicely accented her red-and-black winter coat, as well as was more comfortable to kick skulls and take names in, at least in her book. It was as close as she was going to get to dressing in Daredevil colors without the suit of armor.

The reason Karen was here was simple. While Matt and Marci were taking the A train back uptown after their visit to Dahill, he had recalled what Karen had said yesterday at the A-Train Diner before Silvio’s death, about wanting self-defense training. He’d decided in that moment, it was probably a good idea that she learn to pull some basic fight moves, before they made their visit to Lindsey Costa down in Brooklyn. Matt had a feeling that Fisk was probably going to send more and more goons after him and Karen, besides whatever he seemed to be planning with Daredevil's name, and it’d be a lot easier for him if Karen was able to provide him backup. He wasn’t trying to use her as a replacement for Elektra, he argued, he was just trying to make sure she was safe. Karen had said she wanted to be a part of his world, so this would be fulfilling that promise.

So after stopping at his apartment to grab his workout bag, Matt called Karen and journeyed to Fogwell’s. While waiting for her arrival, he decided to blow off steam by going to town on one of the punching bags like it were Fisk's face. He still remembered Felix Manning’s words from when they’d crossed paths at Nelson’s Meats, and no matter how hard Matt tried to, he couldn’t get the Englishman’s threats fresh out of his head.

_“You three are untouchable, is that what you think? No one can get to you? Hey, everyone can be gotten to…”_

Of course, the bag wasn't Fisk; it didn't fight back. Matt just wanted to make Fisk suffer for what he'd done. Prison couldn't stop him; he’d just continued the empire he started, and Matt had had the opportunity to piss him off, which had backfired.

Foggy’s words when he’d first found out the truth about what he did at night came flooding back. “ _Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Then again, maybe I would. The hell do I know about Matt Murdock?_ ”

He really hated this, all the missteps he had made and all the ways he screwed up, not just with Fisk, but with his friendships too. Marci was right, he’d been terminally stupid going off to visit Fisk without telling anyone where he was going, he knew. Too emotional. Trying to get Fisk to reveal his hand in Castle’s escape, he’d overstepped by threatening to do what it took to ensure Fisk could never be reunited with Vanessa again. And Donovan had told him and Karen in the parking garage that Fisk had turned rat because the Feds were threatening charges against her (not that Matt or Karen believed that, given the information about Jasper Evans). Still…could he have mistakenly thought Matt had made good on his threats? As far as coincidences went, that one hit really close to the chest. And even without that threat, the fact that Nelson & Murdock were the ones who put him away was all the reason enough for him to hate Matt’s guts, enough to take his anger out on Matt and his friends.

Why, oh why did Fisk have to hurt Foggy? And Theo? Matt liked Theo a lot.  He liked most of Foggy’s friends and family, and that included Marci.  Since their first semester together, the Nelsons had been like a second family to Matt, one that he’d been denied the opportunity to have most of his life. Theo had been special in that, like his brother, he never looked down on Matt for being disabled. He just accepted Matt for who he was with no questions asked. Regarded him like an honorary brother. And now, he was paying the price because Matt had a momentary lapse of judgment. But what was done was done, and the only proper way to move forward was to sit back, process what he'd learned, and try to work out a new solution.

Stewart Finney, he had to be the answer to getting Theo off the hook. And maybe, just maybe, he could tell more about Fisk’s time in prison than Jasper Evans. Whether he’d be willing to talk to Karen on record, after Felix had scared her off upon her attempt to talk to him at the bank, was less certain. It was more than likely that he’d have to find a way to catch Finney at home. At least there, he and Karen would have a way in. Finney's girlfriend used to work with Marci at Landman & Zack, and if Marci showed up on the pretense of a social chat, there’d be no way Finney could weasel his way out.

And they needed to move quickly. Felix may have left before the little impromptu deposition, but Matt was smart enough to guess that he suspected Theo would give up Finney's name to Matt. Meaning that Finney could already be on Fisk's radar as far as people who needed to be eliminated before they could spill the beans.

He was so fixated on venting his frustrations on the bag that it took him a few moments to register when Karen arrived.

 “Whoa,” Karen said, breathing a sigh of amazement, “This is where you train?”

Matt stepped back, bounced a bit on his toes, sweat dripping into his sightless eyes, and turned in the direction of her voice. He’d been going at this for about a half hour. It felt good to be back here, for the first time in months. It allowed him to concentrate and dwell on his issues, as well as any self-doubts he still had about the whole prospect of provoking a war between Fisk and both Costa and Carbone. “You think?” he smiled.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she smirked, “I always suspected you had somewhere to hone your craft, since the apartment’s not really designed for that. Not that this isn’t cool,” she added hurriedly. “Just kinda…grungier than I was expecting.”

“You’re impressed,” Matt commented.

“Do I?” she laughed, “Marci’s taken me to her gym in Williamsburg as a guest, and…I’m just gonna be frank, the place she goes is one of those exclusive spa-type places where it costs a month’s rent just to get a membership.” Gentrification was going on all over the city, not just in Hell’s Kitchen. It was a sore spot for Karen, ever since Union Allied and Elena. It was a low blow for her to bring it up, and she knew it, but- Fisk being back on the streets was digging up painful memories for everyone _._

Matt pursed his lips. “Karen, you shouldn’t have to do this-”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Karen said, thickly, “I shouldn’t. But that was before Fisk. Before Elena, Ben, Wesley, Frank…and--and everything else that’s happened to me. I told you yesterday, I don’t want to be an expert martial artist, Matt. I’m not trying to be you or Elektra or Danny or even Colleen. But if Fisk is going to come all-out on us, I’d feel a hell of a lot better knowing how to defend myself when you’re not present.”

“You’ve said you can take care of yourself,” he pointed out.

“And for the most part, I can,” she retorted, setting her purse down on a folding chair next to the ring. “But I’d like to exert a little finesse in taking on bad guys without resorting to my gun.”

Matt smiled and waited as Karen slipped off her coat and deposited it on the chair as well.

“Have you, uh, got any training already?” he asked, curiously.

“A little,” she admitted, “I took a few courses on stage combat in high school, and Brett taught me some basic self-defense after the whole incident with Lewis. Could’ve gotten me out of that near-brush with death.”

Matt’s face dropped slightly, recalling Karen’s descriptions that she’d given him in the hotel. Until what Karen said next. “And you, of course.”

“But I haven't yet taught you anything, Miss Page,” he said.

“I studied some videos of you in action,” she commented, “For instance, that footage of you on the news after the…bombings. And a few cell phone videos of you from some of your other escapades. I’ve been practicing them in your apartment.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed,” Matt said, wryly. He was aware that there were videos of him floating around the Internet; Foggy had told him as much. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, since he could only handle so much information at once.

“So, where do we begin?” she asked.

“First things first…” Matt rummaged through his gym bag, emptying it until he could feel the protective tape he used to protect his hands when he was working out. “Let me tape your hands for you. To protect them from scrapes and bruises while we’re here. Technically, this is supposed to be the first thing I teach you. Although… knowing you, I bet you want to go straight to punching me.”

“Am I that obvious?” Karen asked sheepishly.

“Just a little bit,” Matt said, his lips quirking into a smile. He moved his fingers carefully as he wrapped her hands tightly. The tape felt cool and tight to the touch against Karen's skin, a startling contrast to the warm touch of Matt’s hands.

“Now, in a professional fight, both people would come in acting as equals,” he explained to her, “That there are certain rules to be followed. Otherwise, you’re not really fighting as an equal. You’re just trying to destroy the other person and make them suffer in a horribly one-sided bout."

 _Coming from a guy who put a bunch of FBI agents in the hospital the other day, and who has fought twice against a guy with the body of a wrestler._ “That sounds more like Fisk's mindset than anything,” Karen said, cautiously. Fisk was at least twice her size, twice _Matt's_ size. No amount of martial arts training could fully compensate for that. It really had taken Matt wearing protective armor to beat him when they’d fought in that alleyway.

Matt paused and tilted his head. “Well, obviously. We have to assume Fisk is five steps ahead of us.”

“I’m also thinking physically, Matt,” she clarified. “You and Fisk are in different weight classes.”

Matt finished with her hands and pulled out another length of tape for his own hands. He’d done this dozens of times, so his movements were much quicker than when he’d been doing her hands. She wondered just how long he’d been coming here.

“First off, we’re not going to be going up against Fisk in a fistfight,” Matt frowned, “At least, not for now. In the meantime, you should  learn how  to combat the guys who do his laundry. Who are mostly a lot closer to my size.”

“Yes, but you still might have to face off against Fisk at some point,” Karen said quietly. “Not just a phone call or a chance run-in at an art gallery. If he finds a way out of house arrest.” She sighed heavily as Matt finished taping his hands. “I dunno, maybe I’m just overthinking this.”

Matt placed a wrapped hand on hers. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, shakily.

“Look, I get it,” he said, “You’re scared for me. And-“

“If Fisk finds out that I shot Wesley, he’s going to come after me,” Karen replied, tersely, “Probably harder than he’s coming after you and Foggy. I am scared _shitless_ by that prospect. The last thing I want to do is make it that easier for his men to get me. Or you and Foggy getting a phone call from the morgue because you weren’t around to protect me and…”

Karen covered her mouth with her hand, squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself not to cry. She was tired of crying. She was tired of this broken feeling she had every time she remembered the days that followed Midland Circle. In an instant, she felt strong arms wrap around her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry, I’m…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Matt said soothingly. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I- I don’t know if teaching you how to fight will do anything to improve things, but if it keeps your head where it’s at, well, I digress a little peace of mind doesn’t hurt."

Karen pulled out of the hug, relieved. _"_ Okay, Murdock, show me what you've got. "

* * *

 

Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect to be sparring with Matt right away, but she didn’t think that she’d be spending the first fifteen minutes going through a crash course on stances. Matt taught Karen the basic rules of the ring in between a few reminders that she needed to relax her knees.

How he could tell her knees were tense was still beyond her, even with all this profound knowledge about Matt’s abilities. But in the long run, did it make a difference?

“I will get some time on the bag, will I?” Karen whined as she practiced a crouch. “I could’ve sworn that the central element of this was just learning how to punch properly.”

“Standing comes first,” Matt said. He tapped his cane gently against her knees. He nodded, satisfied with her performance. “It’s not enough just to throw punches, you have to be able to take them too because mobsters are the kind who _will_ draw blood when they attack. So stance is very important.”

Jesus. Karen knew that Matt was a disciplined guy, what with the training he'd undergone. But she wasn't expecting him to be this intense about such a minor thing. Though, she supposed that with Fisk’s vendetta against the law firm that took him down, an intense and quick boot camp was exactly what was warranted in this situation, and Matt was going to rush her through all the important lessons.

“I’ll try not to let them land too many hits, Matt,” she tried to quip.

Matt faltered, swallowing heavily. “Karen-” He started.

“I can take care of myself, Matt,” Karen said firmly. “I mean, a guy who can defeat Wilson Fisk in a fistfight is the best person to take fight lessons from.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’d go to Colleen, but she hasn't dealt with guys like Fisk. And even if she had in the past, she hasn’t been offering any classes at all since Midland Circle,” she admitted.

Given how intense Matt was with her just on stance, she could only imagine what Stick’s training was like.  “This sort of training. Is this what it was like when…Stick was teaching you as a kid?”

Matt smiled sheepishly. “No, I’m not trying to imitate Stick. If I were trying to emulate him, you’d hate my guts.”

Karen made a face. “Right….” She pursed her lips. “You told me he had a habit of getting on your case about me.” He immediately felt a pang of guilt upon hearing the concern in her voice.

"Yeah, well," he said, closing his eyes, “He taught me a lot of what I know about fighting. Same for Elektra. He pushed me hard, taught me to push _myself_ harder than anyone else. He saw potential in me. But in retrospect, he also pushed me a bit too hard, he… he really sucked as far as teachers go.”

“What happened?” He was grateful that Karen’s concern was not out of pity, but for his wellbeing in general.

“I tried to convince him that I cared about him and hoped he reciprocated.” He sighed. “He called me a coward, said I shouldn’t make any sort of connections because I’ll put them at risk. In his eyes, you and Foggy were  liabilities to me, and I never put it past him to try to do something about it. Until y’know, that night you met him." Even as he said it, he knew that he shouldn't have.

"Don’t remind me,” Karen said, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"And I don’t think he was entirely wrong," Matt said haltingly. Because maybe Stick wasn't wrong; knowing now just what Karen’s skeletons were, she was a walking target for more than just Fisk.

"…what?" she asked.

Matt immediately wished he could've taken that back.

"I mean," he tried to correct himself. "Remember that story I told you the other day about how Stick once took me out for ice cream? Well, the truth is, he did it to test me. Get me to use my senses to observe the flavors of the individual ingredients. And I kept the wrapper from the cone afterwards. I made it into this little bracelet that I tried to offer him as a gift, to show him how important he was to me. He wanted a soldier, I wanted a father figure. So he left. But not without this bullshit about how love is a weakness. And fact of the matter is, I think it’s true, what he said about love being a distraction.”

"…Oh." Karen found herself at a loss for words.

“When those guys from the Hand took you, I had a hard time sifting through the noise to find you. I just couldn’t picture anything but hurting, maybe even killing you. Elektra had to talk me through it and remind me to use my hyper-focused hearing.”

“You found us, Matt, and that’s what counts,” she said, gently.

“And afterwards, I came to you, told you my secret,” he said, “Because the only chance we had was if you knew the whole truth, if you knew everything, if there were no more secrets-"

Karen cut him off by abruptly grabbing his face with both of her hands, awkward as it proved to be with her hands wrapped in tape, and kissing him passionately. They eventually broke for air, and Karen’s hands drifted down to his waist.

“I know, Matt.”

Matt cleared his throat, and gestured in the general direction of the punching bags. “I promised that I’d let you throw a few punches, Miss Page…”

* * *

 Punching proved to be something that Karen was very _good_ at, as she’d demonstrated with her right cross to Felix Manning at the butcher shop. With all the pent-up aggression and rage in her over Fisk, she surprised Matt by exerting enough force to make the bag swing wildly with each blow she made.  

From what Matt was saying between every barrage of blows she inflicted on the bag, Karen wanted to believe it was all about _focus_. Focusing on stance, on breathing, on keeping your fists up. Focus on these things, focus on what was in front of you, and never letting your guard down. Principles Karen knew very well from every story she’d chased. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a particularly skilled fighter. She could make up for that with brutal, unrelenting determination.

About twenty minutes later, Matt put his hand out to steady the bag in place, signalling that it was time to stop, and jerked his head towards the ring.

"Alright. Ready to move on to trying out some moves against a real person?"

"What—now? Already?" she panted.

"Yeah. I want to give you some ring time before we head out."

“Sure," she said, feeling slightly nervous as she glanced at the ring. "You're the trainer." She was wondering if this was going to be something that would escalate into foreplay, recalling how Matt had described having sex with Elektra here.  _This doesn’t look like a very sanitary place to be having sex. I mean, the floor must be very contaminated with bodily fluids and god-knows-what._ "You aren’t gonna fight me until it turns into making out, are you?”

Matt blushed, realizing what Karen was referring to. "No, Karen, it won’t be like that," he explained. "At the very least, let me teach you where to hit properly. You’re about my height, but even so, Fisk's got plenty of guys  who are much stronger than James Wesley or Felix Manning. So it's more important to know where on their body you should hit them to inflict the most damage."

Matt grabbed the ropes surrounding the ring, using them as leverage to hoist himself up onto the platform. Then he turned back to Karen expectantly.

"Even if it's not Fisk's guys you're up against, you need to at least know how to put someone down. How to fall, how to use your legs. How to get your breath back and strike back if someone punches you in the gut or throat. How to disarm someone with a gun or a knife. All of it,” he said. He pulled the ropes up with one hand for her to duck under them, extending the other hand down for her to take.

Karen heaved a deep sigh, shaking her head as she placed her hand in his. "I'm willing to cross that bridge."

Matt grinned at her before easily pulling her up and into the ring. She lingered near the corner of the platform and eyed Matt carefully as he paced along the perimeter, tracing the rope with his fingers. She felt a pale flutter of nervousness…and excitement in her stomach as she realized just what she was stepping into. _Fighting a blind man. Killing a criminal’s right hand man. Killing your own brother. Man, I’m ticking off a strange bucket list._

"Have you ever taught anyone how to fight before?" she asked, hesitantly.

"No," he said, coming to a stop at the opposite corner of the ring, and leaning back against the ropes. "Why are you asking?"

Her mind flashed back to every instance she’d seen of Matt fighting. That night in her apartment, when she had been stunned from the blow of her head being slammed against wall. Rance advancing on her with a knife, when Matt broke down the door and charged him. Watching him wrap a loose chain around Rance's neck in a driving rainstorm. Her relief when he found her and all those other people the Hand had been holding hostage. When he was brutally beating the crap out of innocent FBI agents who thought they were protecting Donovan from an armed assailant. That security footage of Matt beating up Officer Corbin. Those landscape and portrait cell phone videos. Now she couldn't help but speculate as to how much Devil he was bringing into the ring. She hadn't really thought to ask about how this whole thing would work; consequently, she had no idea what to expect. "Uh, no reason," she lied.

Matt tilted his head as Karen fidgeted with the wraps around her hands, which had come loose while she was attacking the heavy bag. She was a little uncomfortable with the situation. Unlike Matt’s opponents, she _was_ aware that her opponent was a blind man. She figured most people would feel the same hesitance about intentionally hurting a disabled person. Fisk excepted, of course.

After a few moments, he pushed himself off the ropes and came over to her to help readjust her wraps.

"You okay?" he asked quietly as he redid her wrappings. She realized that he'd picked up on her nervousness.

"No. I just..." she shrugged, glancing around the ring before exhaling and figuring she might as well get right to the point. "Okay, who will I be sparring with here? The Matt I walked home and who then kissed me in the rain, or the one who tore through a dozen Russians to rescue a kidnapped boy?"

Matt just nodded, apparently pondering his answer as he continued wrapping her hand.

"Is that a trick question, Miss Page?” He pressed his lips together.

Karen cast her eyes towards the ceiling, embarrassed, and Matt chuckled lightly.

"I told you, I won’t be easy on you, Karen. If that's what you're asking," he told her bluntly. "That would defeat the purpose of being here, would it? If you have to use anything that I teach you tonight against Fisk's people, they won’t be easy on you. Especially not as guys who go to great lengths to protect their boss’s interests from enemies like you."

"Yeah…I, um, noticed," Karen muttered, thinking of the guard who’d tried to choke her in her cell, and of Rance, slamming her head against a wall; of Wesley, seven bullets in his body. It’d taken days in both cases for the injuries from those to fade completely. And in Wesley's case, the mental scars were still there.

Matt kept his focus on re-wrapping her hand as they talked, allowing her to process his words.

"You've been on the defensive so far in the past in all physical incidents you've dealt with. So I’m gonna be putting you on the offensive. Are you okay with physically striking me? And me back at you?"

Something about the way he asked  that question made Karen question if he was reassuring her or if he was looking for her to reassure him.

"Yeah. I just, uh…" Karen nodded to the gym around them. "All of this is—well, I meant it when I said that I’ve never, uh, really gotten to be a part of your world, Matt. And…neither has Foggy, actually. I don't...I dunno, I'm still getting used to all this." _Being Daredevil's partner-in-crime._

"Well, luckily for you, in this environment, we’re on even ground, so you’ll get complete control over what happens," he informed her as cheerily as he could, while he finished wrapping her left hand. "That won't be the case once we're out on the streets, though."

Karen narrowed her eyes at him skeptically. "You sure that that building falling on you didn’t mess with your head?"

Matt laughed as he began working on her right hand. "Father Lantom and Sister Maggie certainly thought so. Found a guy for me to spar with to see if I could still fight.”

“And remind me how you fared in that match?” she asked, pointedly.

“I think I fought well enough, loss of hearing in one ear considered,” he admitted, lips curling up.

As she made a sound of agreement, he helped tape up her right hand.

"Think of this as a good excuse to hit me," Matt said with a wicked grin as he began slowly walking backwards, using his light hold on her wrist to tow her to the center of the ring. "I know you've wanted to do that to me ever since the Castle trial."

Despite herself, Karen laughed as Matt raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"I'm going to plead the fifth about that," she told him.

"I figured you might," he stopped in the middle of the ring, hand still grasping her wrist. "You ready?"

Karen looked at him suspiciously. "Yes," she bared her teeth and smiled.

"Good," he said. Without warning, he abruptly tightened his hold on her wrist while slamming a fist into her gut with his other hand.

As Karen gasped for air, Matt took this opportunity to spin her around and lock an arm around her throat. Karen clawed at his arm with both hands, trying to use all of her strength to loosen his grip. Matt wasn’t choking her tight enough that she was going to pass out, but his hold was just firm enough that she couldn’t loosen his arm.

 _Well, Matt seems to want to take me back to that night in the holding cell,_ she thought. Farnum had had her in this kind of hold, albeit that time, he was choking her with her bedsheets, trying to make it look like a suicide.

“If someone wants to incapacitate you, this is one of the easiest ways for them to do it,” Matt said calmly. “It’s not an easy hold to break out of.”

“I got it,” Karen nodded. _I think I saw a move like this in Total Recall._

"You shouldn’t be trying to grab at my arm," he said. "I’m much stronger than you. You’ll have to hit me somewhere to get me to release you."

"You have an interesting definition of fun," Karen snarked coolly.  

Matt just smirked and said, “Well, this is educational fun, so...”

Karen twisted her body and using her left elbow, struck Matt several times around his floating rib. Instinctively, he loosened his grip on her throat, allowing her to free herself and pivot around to face him. He proceeded to swing at her with his right fist, which she dodged and countered with a straight left elbow to his knee. Matt’s footing faltered, and Karen took advantage of this to deliver a strike to the lower part of his leg with her left hand.

Matt fell to the floor with a thud. Karen froze, concerned that she had struck him a little harder than she intended. Much to her relief, he laughed and shakily stood back up on his feet.

“I’d say you know how to disable one’s legs easily,” he said.

Karen couldn’t help but smile. “I told you I practiced from videos, Murdock.”

They spent the next half hour or so with Karen practicing hitting various pressure points that Matt showed her, as well as various moves to quickly incapacitate, disable, and/or disarm an opponent, both unarmed and armed. All throughout, he easily deflected her blows, but also allowed her to come close enough that she could measure her aim. When they moved on to below the shoulder targets—the solar plexus, the side of the rib—he occasionally allowed her to actually tag him, though they didn't seem to stun him much. At one point, she forgot to withdraw her hand in time after landing a blow to his floating rib. Before she could blink, he’d locked his hand around her right wrist and spun her around so that her back slammed into his chest. He locked his other arm around her waist, pinning her left arm to her side so that she was effectively trapped in position.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Miss Page," he whispered into her ear, suggestively.

Hopped up on adrenaline, Karen didn't wait for Matt to release her. He was holding her right wrist at such an angle that she could still move her arm, and she elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could. He made a noise that was somewhere between a pained exhale and a laugh, but it seemed to do the trick, and he loosened his grip enough that she was able to break away. _I wish I’d gotten to do that to Farnum when he tried that on me._

When she spun around again to face him, she was surprised to see that wicked grin back on his face.

"Good," he told her.

Karen grinned from ear to ear and cracked her knuckles. “That was for dying on me and Foggy!” she exclaimed.

Matt chuckled. _Yeah, I deserved that._

Considering the low patience Matt had with matters regarding Fisk, he was surprisingly patient and impressed with Karen’s quick learning. She agreed, she needed him to be hard on her. There was a restless energy blistering around her, and she seemed very intent on getting everything just right, if not more than 'right'.

Karen immediately charged Matt, lashing out with a barrage of blows directed at Matt’s chest, many of which he countered with a tact and grace she would never accomplish. She was so focused on landing hits on his midsection that she failed to realize she’d given him an opening. She didn’t realize until he suddenly  swept her legs clean out from under her. He caught her before she could hit the mat, maneuvering them so she landed on top of him, dazed.

"It’s not about how you hit the mat," he told her. "It’s how you get back up that matters. My father taught me that."

“I bet he imparted a lot better wisdom than Stick did,” Karen gasped, rolling off of Matt and getting to her feet.

"You okay? Do you want to quit?"

Karen rubbed her back. "No. I’m fine." _Just need a few minutes to break._

Matt raised an eyebrow at her. "You're sure?"

“I just need a drink.” She made her way over to the corner of the ring where she’d left her purse and grabbed a bottle of water. “And I think you’d like to know what I uncovered this afternoon.” She downed a big swig of water.

"Anything new?" Matt asked.

He heard Karen's bun swish as she shook her head. "Not much on Lindsey Costa. She runs a multimillion dollar syndicate from a nightclub at Coney Island that’s involved in the sale of guns, cocaine, corruption and counterfeit goods throughout southern Brooklyn.”

Matt cocked his head. _The Carbones have some crooked officials in their pockets too. And so did the Albanians._ Was it a coincidence that Fisk was reaching out to organizations that had corrupt officials on payroll?

"Corruption?"

"Yeah," she said. "Police, labor unions, real estate, that kinda stuff. Costa and Carbone families have been involved in this stuff for the past thirty years."

“How long have the families worked together?”

Karen nodded her head. “Their parents were partners with each other and Rigoletto on a couple of distribution deals. Didn't really look too much into that. Don't think it really matters.” She took a deep breath. "I also did some digging into Stewart Finney, and Fisk’s time in prison. And in the process, I think we know for certain how Fisk continued to make money from behind bars.”

Matt straightened up and nodded. _Other inmates that Fisk was in contact with?_ "Where's this money coming from? Besides any holdings of his that weren't frozen?"

“Seems that before Fisk arrived in prison, Richard Dutton was another lifer doing time there. He allegedly held a near monopoly on all contraband in that place.” She took another sip of water. “Word is that Dutton also owned most of the guards. Castle killed him and about a half-dozen of his men prior to making his jailbreak, and after that, Fisk took over Dutton’s operations.”

“Makes sense,” Matt nodded, “Fisk always has others do his dirty work for him. He wanted Nobu gone, so he tricked him and me into taking each other out. I'm not surprised he used Castle to accomplish the same goal in prison."

"You said it suited Fisk to have Frank out there taking out competitors."

"Inside and out, obviously." He sighed. "Outside, he brings heat to more gangs, meaning more people inclined to pay this new tax he wants to impose on them. And on the inside, by not looking so obviously like the man running the show, he appeals to Nadeem as a man seemingly atoning for his crimes, willing to make a sacrifice in the name of love, all while secretly using his newfound money to buy up the Presidential Hotel.  What better way to gain control of the prison than stage a coup by proxy.”

“Castle kills Dutton, Fisk steps up, nothing that can readily be traced back to Fisk,” Karen said, “And the guards, they’ve been intimidated into silence as well.”

“The ones who don't have anything to lose?"

“They've all been bribed or threatened by Felix Manning,” she answered. Matt wiped sweat off his brow with a towel as Karen took another swig of water. _Felix Manning truly is everywhere._ “Jennifer had done a story about Castle’s escape, and the guards claimed they’d been visited by Felix in the time after the breakout and he threatened to kill them if they talked to the press. That’s all I know.”

“Huh,” Matt scratched his chin, “That’s, uh, that’s pretty interesting.”

“Come again?”

“When Marci and I talked to Dahill, she told us that Fisk had similarly threatened her firm. This was after he sent Donovan to C&D to have Finney’s retainer bolstered.”

 _So he bribes and threatens people to ensure he gets what he wants. Greed and/or fear._ “And they did it?” she asked. “They appealed his case?”

“He got out in the summer of 2016, Dahill overseeing the whole case,” Matt said.  He grimaced as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. _Is Jennifer a loyal person? Because you were saying this morning that you thought someone in the Bulletin leaked to Fisk information about your past._ “Can I ask you something, Karen? Do you trust the reporter who gave you that information about Fisk’s stay?”

Karen hesitated as she suddenly remembered the phone interview Jennifer was having with Tammy Hattley when she’d popped in, about the heroic agent who thwarted the Albanians’ attempt on Fisk. “…Jennifer Many? She’s good. I trust her, for the most part,” she said slowly, leaning back against the ropes, “She was the one who covered that press conference with Danny and the Meachums at Rand after he came back from K’un-L’un last year.”

“I remember that vaguely,” Matt mused.

“I had a bit of a rivalry with her for my first few months at the paper. Ben also mentored her a bit when she’d started back in the 90s, so she took his loss just as badly as we did.”

Matt paused. He could tell there was something that was making Karen uneasy. “And?”

Karen took a deep breath. “…Nothing big. It’s just…” Matt raised his eyebrows. “Something strange happened today when I entered her office to speak to her.” She exhaled. “She was on a phone call with Tammy Hattley.”

“The SAC in charge of Fisk’s FBI detail? Nadeem’s boss?” Matt asked. _Now that's completely strange._

“Yeah. And she was disclosing details about an internal investigation into Benjamin Poindexter, the uh, the agent who was with Nadeem when he talked to you.”

Matt said nothing, firmly invested in what Karen had to say. He had a fainting suspicion that Hattley was one of the agents in Fisk’s pocket. She’d said she was in charge of the details surrounding Fisk’s transfer from Rikers to the Presidential. Since Fisk owned the hotel and staged his own shanking, it just seemed like a reasonable conclusion that the person who coordinated the motorcade to move him between two places he owned would have been paid off too. Or threatened. It'd be the only way he could ensure that the entire transfer--Albanian attack aside--happened as  _he_ decided it would. “What was she saying about him?”

“That he evidently may have violated some use-of-force guidelines,” Karen shrugged, “Maybe. I only walked in on the tail end of the conversation. But I did hear that the FBI’s internal affairs is looking into it.”

Hearing a mention of Internal Affairs made Matt’s hairs stand on end. For Fisk to ensure that his dirty cops could do his work for him, without being bogged down in investigations, he’d have to have people in the Office of Professional Responsibility paid off. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it either. He was reminded of what Hoffman had testified to in his deposition at the 15th Precinct. Hoffman claimed Fisk's pull in the NYPD stretched from beat cops all the way up to and including several of Commissioner Reagan’s closest advisors at One Police Plaza. When it came to the Internal Affairs Bureau, he supposedly had about a third of the cops there paid off, and their job was to stifle any investigations into the dirty cops on the street. Even if Hoffman hadn’t disclosed that particular fact, it wouldn’t have been too hard to guess that IAB had been paid off. The standoff at the warehouse where Blake was shot had taken place less than 13 hours after he and Hoffman murdered Piotr in custody in cold blood. There was no way they could’ve been cleared by IAB _that_ quickly, unless someone _wanted_ the matter to go away.

And now, here was an FBI SAC reporting confidential details on an internal investigation into one of her agents. There had to be some reason why Fisk was directing her to speak about this agent’s actions. Maybe she was trying to sway Poindexter to start taking bribes. Or maybe something more sinister.

“Gotta make sure those crooked FBI guys can stay on the streets,” he said, “You’d certainly want to ensure that they're loyal before turning street agents.”

“Might be worth making a visit to Brett tomorrow to discuss this,” Karen nodded. With Fisk potentially planning for a terrorist attack involving an imposter Daredevil, the FBI being in his pocket, Foggy under investigation, Foggy’s brother on the hook for fraud, Matt at the risk of being outed as Daredevil…it was time to call in a tip to the NYPD to see how willing they might be to make a move on Fisk. The NYPD certainly seemed to be the more competent law enforcement agency in this whole mess.

 _It’s gonna be ironic if the NYPD are the ones arresting crooked FBI agents._ “I think you’re right on that,” Matt agreed. _I’m kinda curious about that agent that killed the gunmen._ “What are the papers saying about that Agent Poindexter?” he asked.

Karen shrugged. “Not much besides a summary of his life story,” she said, recalling what she’d read skimming over yesterday’s front page, “Born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Parents died in a car accident, spent his youth in group homes. Was a star pitcher on a Little League team in the early 90s. Did some time at Riviera Psychiatric in Queens for reasons that are sealed. Then a few years at a suicide hotline, then a few tours of duty in Afghanistan, and now serves as a SWAT sniper.” She took a swig of water as she remembered…there was a photograph of him on an online _Bulletin_ article that she read after she left Jennifer's office.

“Might be interesting trying to interview him after the impression we gave him at the Hotel,” Matt chortled.

Karen stared at him. “You think Fisk is planning something with him?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “We just have to wait and see. I didn’t notice anything notable about him that would make him fall for Fisk's bullshit. But, knowing Fisk, he must know something that the papers don’t.”

“I think we ought to speak to him once we deal with Stewart Finney and Jasper Evans.” Karen checked her watch and finished off her water bottle. “Okay, I think I’m ready for round 2.”

“You ready? I’m gonna be a little more aggressive,” Matt warned, smirking, “You might draw some blood.”

“Then bring it on.”

Matt raised his hands into a fighting stance, his eyes focusing somewhere around Karen’s shoulder. “Ready?”

She swallowed heavily, and raised her own fists. “Ready.”

Karen was not surprised. Neither of them were patient enough to wait. Matt was the first to strike, swinging a left hook towards her head. Karen ducked the punch and immediately countered with a jab towards his chest. Matt reflexively blocked the blow with his arms, not even trying to dodge.

He nodded in approval. “Not too bad.”

“‘Not too bad?’ Ellison’s not going to like this,” Karen teased, smiling, almost ferally.

Matt’s jaw stiffened. He lowered his hands slightly, allowing Karen to go in for another jab. It wasn’t a particularly strong punch, but it had the intended effect. Before she could even get in the one-two combo, Matt was focused again, dodging her punches with ease.

But he wouldn’t do _more_ than that. He was all about footwork, no offense: no fury or passion. He threw his punches with just the right amount of force to make himself _look_ convincing and still give her time to dodge them.

It was _infuriating_ Karen to no end _. I am angry, goddamnit. Make it difficult for me._ Karen snarled in frustration. She let forth a barrage of blows that carried only a little of what she’d been honing in her spare time. For Elena Cardenas. For Kevin. For Ben. For Daniel Fisher. And for the teenage girl trapped in the overturned car. She had speed, she had power, and most importantly of all, she had _anger._

It was this anger that spurred Matt into action. As Karen let loose on Matt, he dodged and countered each of her blows, one punch and a jab thrown at her head, making contact with her jaw. As Karen felt blood emanate from her mouth, she held that it was not unsporting so much as aiming the interaction in a certain direction.

She smiled, and used her hand to wipe away the blood. “Oh yes,” she murmured.

Matt delivered a quick jab, which Karen dodged and followed with a cross-counter. He blocked this easily; of course, he had expected it. His uppercut was quick and caused a flash of pain in Karen’s jaw, and as she stumbled backwards a step, he aimed a few blows at her midsection. Karen barely blocked them, and responded with a cross that he dodged so closely he had to take a step back to catch his balance. She recovered quickly from the next jab he delivered and weaved in close, hitting his diaphragm with a well-placed short straight-punch. Though his breath caught in his chest, he smiled at her. He feinted a cross with his rear hand and caught Karen off-guard with one from his left hand, crowding so close to her that even when she blocked his hook, she was hit with her own hand. _So he is not a straight out-fighter_ , she mused: he was also a bit of a trickster. There were some clear advantages to being a blind man with heightened abilities.

Karen and Matt followed up with a few halfhearted jabs from each other, each trying to calculate the other’s next move. Matt had used the first round to gauge her style of fighting, and she had tried to gauge his, but she was afraid their success was unequal, on account of his longer training. He feinted more often, masterfully at that, earning Karen a nearly dislocated jaw and what could have been a fractured rib had he not held his hand back at the last moment, clearly wanting her to be in shape for when they visited Rosalie. For some reason this little mercy incensed Karen, and she attacked him with even more vigor than before. Matt took advantage of her distraction to suddenly sweep her legs out from under her, and she smiled as she fell. It was a savage smile, the one that she usually sported when she got the upper hand on interviewees who underestimated her ability to catch their lies and ask more leading questions.

Her hair was plastered with sweat. Her ears were ringing from a half-hook she had taken to the side of the head. Her jaw was bruised, her ribs and forearms sore. And she was somehow happier than she had felt, well, since the last time she and Matt made love.

“Oh Matt,” she responded, breathlessly. _Why do I sound like I just had an orgasm? Weird…_  

“Still hanging in there?” Matt asked as he approached her.

"…I’m fine," she said, then groaned lightly as she sat up. "Let’s go get some dinner and then…go feed some information to Costa."

"Good idea." Matt extended his hand down to her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

A few minutes later, they were both out of the ring and preparing to leave. As Karen was waiting for Matt to put his coat back on, she absently studied the posters lining the walls, and her eyes caught on a familiar pair of names. _Carl “the Crusher” Creel vs. Battlin' Jack Murdock._

She inhaled as she remembered the things Matt had told her about his dad, and about his murder. The date on the poster was the same date as Jack was murdered.

"That was his last bout."

Karen flinched. She’d been so preoccupied staring at the poster she hadn’t noticed Matt appear next to her, his eyes cast in the general direction of the poster from behind his glasses.

She instinctively felt almost guilty, knowing that this was something sentimental to him. But he didn't seem too upset with her, and he had been the one to bring her here, after all. She brought her gaze back to the yellowed paper on the wall.

"Creel?"

"Yeah," he said, coming to stand next to her. “Same night he died.”

"Did…did he win?" she asked, hesitantly. _If he did, at least he went out on a high note._

"Wasn't supposed to,” Matt said, a bitter smile on his lips as he remembered the conversation his father had had with the mobsters, right here in this very gym. “The odds were three to one that he’d go the distance. So Sweeney, he and this other guy, Samuel Silke, they came here and told him to go down in the fifth. He initially agreed to it, but…I dunno what hit him. He reconsidered. He decided he wasn’t going to do it anymore, for my sake. I think he wanted me to be proud of him...just for once but...”

 _He ended up paying with his life. And left a big hole for Matt to fill with father figures like that Stick asshole._ Karen bit her lip as she watched Matt. It was like she was being reminded again of her brother’s death. Kevin had died indirectly as a result of the same thing. He’d burned down Todd’s trailer and picked a fight with Todd, because he was her brother, and he wanted his sister to get away from such a bad influence that was going to eventually get her killed or thrown in jail. Sure, he could’ve gone about it in a different way, but his intentions were far from misplaced. Yet he paid for it, entrusting Karen to drive him while she was still angry and high. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. _But I can understand why Elektra and Stick sought out Sweeney as a test for you._

"I do kinda wish he'd maybe given a little more thought as to what he was doing," Matt said, shrugging his shoulders. "Come on, let's get going..."

"Yeah." Karen nodded, swallowing hard as she turned away from the poster. _Time to shake up Fisk’s organization a bit_.

* * *

**Presidential Hotel:  
**

While Matt and Karen were in the midst of training at Fogwell's,  more activity was underway at Fisk's penthouse. Donovan and Lee had successfully convinced the government to return all his personal possessions, the ones that had been seized from him when he was arrested, and even better, per Fisk's insistence, were able to demand that said possessions be returned to him tonight.

So as the sun was beginning to set, the penthouse was suddenly filled with a flurry of activity as a team of about a half-dozen movers arrived, hauling in the furniture, paintings and whatnot that had been locked away in a government warehouse. Fisk stood idly by at the top of the stairs as he watched the movers buzzing around, transforming the penthouse from a cold and sterile place to something that felt warm, welcoming, and lived in. The living room received a new minimalistic coffee table, with a pair of black leather armchairs on the side nearest to the front doors, and a sofa on the side nearer to the windows. The dining room table and the existing table in the living room received new comfy white chairs.  An assortment of new floor lamps were also installed in the living room, allowing for Fisk to have a little more control over mood lighting besides the eccentric chandelier.  The movers even went so far as to restock the kitchenware and cookware, meaning that Fisk could now cook meals for himself and Vanessa rather than rely on meals being ordered up from downstairs (he took delight in the fact that this made the FBI agents on the detail even more subservient to him, not just acting as his muscle, but also as errand boys).  And lastly, the walls were decorated with an eclectic gallery of paintings, livening up the warm dark greys and heavy granite of the walls. The only section of wall that was not given any sort of painting was the space in the living room by the coffee table and sofa, which Fisk planned to reserve for "Rabbit in a Snowstorm" once his lawyers were able to negotiate a little more with Esther Falb. _I swear, I do not want to disappoint Vanessa if she comes home and "Rabbit in a Snowstorm" is not there for her._ By the time the movers were done, you wouldn't know that this penthouse was technically a gilded cage unless you saw the security cameras.

But it wasn't just the penthouse that was getting a makeover. Fisk's wardrobe also changed. Before his release, he had made this large bulk order of white three-piece suits, one which filled his entire closet from wall to wall. He'd picked the color white because it was the one color that meant different things in different languages. A lot of people saw white as the color of innocence, so to those people, Fisk could paint himself as a wrongly accused man and one who turned over a new leaf, which hopefully everyone would once his fake Daredevil was used for the first time, and Foggy Nelson made that fake statement saying he'd been intimidated by the man in the mask. There were a bunch of other factors behind Fisk's choice. Such as the fact that white made him stand out in a crowd and reminded his underlings with their black, charcoal and navy colored suits just who was in charge. Or that it was one of Vanessa's favorite colors. And it was a subtle way of paying tribute to the time he'd spent abroad in China and Japan when he first began doing business with Gao and Nobu, places where some Asian cultures associated white with death. 

Even though Fisk wasn't anticipating any attacks from Murdock or anyone else while he was under FBI guard here, he didn't want to take any chances. So he made sure when he spoke to the tailor to ask that the suits have the same armored lining that Melvin Potter had used to sew into his suits before he went to prison. That lining had done a lot of good, saving him from being cut when Anatoly attacked him with that switchblade, or when Murdock tried to use Nobu's kyoketsu-shoge on him. And Fisk was so used to it that he just couldn't fathom the idea of wearing a suit without it. (That being said, the new suits weren't entirely white. That was only for the pants, jackets and vests. It didn't extend to the dress shirts Fisk would wear underneath those, which were still black.)

While the movers were occupied, Fisk decided to change into one of his new suits to see how they felt and looked on him. He was satisfied with the results as he checked himself in the mirror, and he was pleased to find that his father's cufflinks nicely accented them. _Vanessa will absolutely love this look. She did encourage me to start wearing lighter shades when she moved in to our first penthouse, so to see me go all the way..._

As he was changing, Fisk took this time to process the information he’d learned that afternoon from reading Benjamin Poindexter’s file. He couldn’t be more pleased at what he’d found. Dex was a very gullible man. He had a history of abandonment by those he latched onto as “north stars”. His parents. His coach. Dr. Mercer. If Fisk played his cards right, he could add another two groups to that list, in the form of Julie and the FBI. Hopefully, that would be done by first thing tomorrow, once the FBI made the decision to suspend him.

Even then, the euphoria of learning about Dex's weakness and getting his penthouse furnished were just temporary relief to Fisk, who knew once the movers were gone that reality would kick in and he'd have to deal with a bunch of other factors out of his control. Felix Manning’s words that morning when he reported that Matt Murdock had survived the attempt to drown him yesterday rang in his head. “ _There’s no corpse.”_

He had no idea why Matt Murdock and Karen Page were unsettling him now. They were just two people, determined as it were, to keep him from ever obtaining happiness with Vanessa. They knew all about what he was doing for her, having beaten that information out of Donovan. And they knew a lot of other things Fisk wanted to keep buried; like the source of his funding, and how he’d gotten out of prison. It was only a matter of time before they found out who he was starting to make alliances with.

Pausing as he descended the secret stairway to his war room, Fisk replayed their last—what he had meant to be their _final_ —exchange from yesterday. He’d given Murdock a moment to realize just how outclassed he was... and then have those inmates put the man out of his misery. But Murdock had proven resilient, proving he was not a man willing to die.

It shouldn't matter. Murdock was of no consequence, only ever a minor concern and now, even less so. And Karen Page, well, once Poindexter went and made mincemeat out of some of her coworkers, she’d understand that no one would take her seriously.

And once they and Nelson were handled, Fisk could further proceed with plans for his empire uninterrupted. In fact, part of the reason he'd had his new wardrobe delivered today was because he wanted to have a meeting with his men to get a report on what was happening on the streets. So in the midst of the movers' keeping the FBI guards busy, Fisk had called Felix and instructed him to round up three specific lieutenants and bring them to the command center tonight for a conference. In a way, the meeting would play out much like the ones that Fisk had attended with Wesley when they conducted business with Gao, with Nobu, and with the Ranskahovs, just in much nicer settings than a construction site or a body shop.

When Fisk arrived in the war room's hub, Felix almost went slack-jaw, as if Fisk were Jack from  _Titanic_ crashing dinner in the First Class cabin. 

"Good evening, sir," he said, nodding in admiration. "Dare I say that you look like you should be running a plantation farm in Kentucky with a suit like that?"

Fisk glowered at him, but said nothing. _That bears some very negative connotations, Felix._

"Never mind," Felix quickly backtracked, "That's a terrible joke..." He exhaled. "I think Vanessa's gonna love it."

"Are they here?"

"Burbank, Ornstein and Lincoln, as you requested. I've placed them in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Felix." Fisk gave him a slow nod and made his way into the attached kitchen and dining room, left over from when the suite was converted. As he entered the dining room, he observed the round table around which were six seats. Ostensibly, one seat would be for Fisk. One would be for Vanessa once she returned. One would be for Felix. And the last three would be for the three capos who were currently here, all of whom were just as flummoxed by the sight of their boss in such a sharp white suit.

To his left was Carl Burbank, a mid-level enforcer in his early 40s. Burbank was a former ESU sergeant and sniper from the NYPD, and before that had served in Special Ops and learned the art of all the different ways to kill someone. Among his finer credits,  he'd killed Rance to keep him from fingering Wesley as the man who sent him to attack Karen Page in her apartment, and he'd also been responsible for shooting Detective Blake for squealing to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, two additional cops he’d tagged alongside Blake to make the hit look random, and cut Officer Sullivan's throat so that the rookie couldn't tell anyone what the Mask and Vladimir said to one another. All of this gave Fisk reasons to keep him around for future use. After Hoffman flipped, Burbank had quietly resigned from the NYPD (having never been named) and started his own security firm Bushwhacker Securities. Bushwhacker provided security to the Presidential Hotel, as well as the docks and Red Lion Bank. As extra insurance, Burbank's wife Marilyn was the designated chief of security for the hotel. Bushwhacker functioned as a front for Fisk’s more elite enforcers, including the operators who conducted the failed hit on Rostam Kazemi at the beginning of the week, as well as an independent extortion and fencing racket. On top of that, Burbank had been tasked by Felix with coordinating the logistics of the planned mission for Poindexter (Felix deferring to him on the basis that he would be best at formulating a getaway route for after the assault).

The other two men at the table were just a few of the capos who ran Fisk’s street crews. These two in particular were in charge of outside operations that had been inherited from Dutton following his death. The first was Garrett Ornstein, a baldheaded guy in his early 50s who had been a capo to Fisk since around the same time he’d first befriended Wesley. Ornstein, who on paper was a freelance private investigator, had been responsible for getting rid of Clyde Farnum after he’d been bailed out, and staging the man’s death to resemble a suicide so he couldn't implicate Wesley. Presently, he oversaw the organization’s gun and drug smuggling operations. His men collected guns and drugs from the ships as they arrived in shipping containers, and transported them to the various drops and stash houses across the city.  The other capo was Willie “Crazy Horse” Lincoln. Lincoln was responsible for running a loansharking racket as well as collecting money from Fisk’s street pushers, bookies,  and other lowlifes in Hell's Kitchen, all of whom owed Fisk a cut of their take. Both capos had also been tasked with conducting meetings with the local gangs in the city, with an emphasis on the ones moving into Hell's Kitchen, to get them on-board with the new administration.

"Good evening. Thank you for joining me tonight on such short notice,” Fisk said as he entered the room. The three men stood up attentively and pushed their chairs in as he spoke. He decided getting right to the point was a good way to start. Felix entered behind him, and took a position off to the side so Fisk could take center stage.

“You know it took me forever to get past that FBI asshole at the elevators and convince him I’m a guest without a room key,” Ornstein commented.

“One of ours?” Burbank asked him.

“I ain’t good with names, Carl,” Ornstein responded bitterly, “The one who looks like he could be Captain America’s brother.”

“If you ask me, boss, I’m curious why you’ve got our contact at the FBI sending her boys to harass a political candidate,” Lincoln spoke up, “I get it that Nelson and those other losers put you away, but why are you using the FBI to threaten him? You know, that's going to get Nelson to come down harder on this entire syndicate.”

Fisk kept his temper in check with effort. “Mr. Lincoln,” he said, “do not use that word…around me. We are not a syndicate.” _What, do you think this is Chicago?_

“Dates me. Right. Sure. But, y'know, back in the old days,” Lincoln exhaled deeply, “...well, if Rigoletto were still around, he'd have focused his efforts solely on Nelson, and left the rest of his family alone. He didn’t like anyone fucking around with the innocent families."

"Times have changed, Mr. Lincoln," Fisk said, coldly. "Rigoletto is retired. As well as his old school rules of honor."

"You're running the risk that Nelson will double his efforts to get elected, and I don't want to imagine what we'll lose if he makes it past the primary."

An unfortunate, but acceptable loss. Lincoln was preoccupied with his own section of the organization and failing to look at the big picture. Fisk could appreciate that shortcoming. It had taken him time to train himself out of the habit. Still, Lincoln did remember that his boss decapitated a guy with a car door who embarrassed him. He sighed. “Very little, as compared to what Nelson’s Meats will suffer,” he said, his voice becoming low and threatening, “I would advise you to leave the worrying about such matters to people above your pay grade."

Lincoln swallowed with fear, immediately understanding the message.

Fisk took a deep breath, composing himself. _In fact, I should ask about the Nelson problem, but I’ll save that and our enemies for the last part of this meeting. But first, a check-in with Garrett, who's muscling in the Hell's Kitchen gangs._

“Mr. Ornstein."

Ornstein nodded. "Sir."

"I would like to know what progress you’ve been making at…establishing dominance over the new gangs that have been staking claims in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Ornstein steadied his breath before speaking. “I’ve made contact this afternoon with Nate Hackett, leader of the Sons of the Serpent,” he said, “They have a drug lab on 45th near 11th which makes some highly pure heroin, which he distributes through his chain of hardware stores. Recently, he took on a bunch of associates of that glowing fist guy who got arrested last month for muscle. He's also extorting protection money from a number of businesses on the Upper West Side from 59th up to about 81st, among other enterprises.”

“Does he agree to our 20% tax?” Fisk asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ornstein nodded. “I also had a productive meeting this morning with the Wrecking Crew.”

“Wrecking Crew?” Burbank asked, incredulously. “That’s what they call themselves? That's the silliest name I've ever heard for a gang.”

“On account of their violent methods,” Ornstein said, briskly, “They run a pest control service that also serves as cover for a drug manufacturing and burglary operation, which then distributes through the Kitchen and Garment District.”

“Same offer for them?” Fisk asked.

“20% cut of profits in exchange for access to our Hammer suppliers and our Columbian pipeline," Ornstein nodded, "And our contacts in the unions have been notified, so that hasn't changed. They still  know which containers are to be sent through without any inspection." He paused. "I'm currently working on making a deal with the Enforcers, hopefully that one will be closed by Monday morning."

As long as they were on the subject of their partnerships with other gangs, Fisk decided he'd find out what was going on with Izqueda’s gang. Without their leader, the Boriucas needed someone to take command. Hopefully someone more willing to strike a deal than Izqueda. Either that or they’d have to break up the Izquedas’ territory, an option Fisk didn’t want to go for. While simply imposing a street tax on the gangs had been his idea with the intention of ensuring he expand his influence citywide without anyone noticing how deep it went, there were some other practical purposes to this. This was nowhere better seen than Harlem.  He was smart enough to realize there were certain implications that would arise if a white man was trying to muscle into predominantly black territory. The only way he could really gain influence in Harlem would be indirectly, through partnerships like the deals he’d closed with Carbone, which he’d originally tried cutting with Izqueda, or the one he had currently sent Lee to Brooklyn to negotiate with Lindsey Costa.

Ornstein would not be the man suited for making the deal with whoever was promoted to replace Izqueda, Fisk realized. That would be better suited to Willie Lincoln, who, as Fisk understood from research, had run with a few members of that crew back in the day. “I see. Thank you, Ornstein.”

Ornstein flashed a smile of gratitude.

“Now to the next order of business, the  transfer of power concerning the assets of Anibal Izqueda's operations,” Fisk said, “Regretfully, Izqueda decided he did not want to pay us protection and we were forced to terminate negotiations with him. With extreme prejudice." He shot a knowing glance over his shoulder at Felix. "I didn't expect it, but still, we must find a way to resolve this before his people become unfriendly.” _I'd rather not perform another fire sale like we did with Vladimir._

“Research thinks that they'll stall, then pass,” Felix spoke up, “Now that we’ve killed their boss and put the word out that you ordered it.”

“So we kill 'em,” Burbank suggested.

“Maybe,” Felix bit his lip. He hadn’t wanted to shoot Izqueda, but Izqueda had been pretty hostile and had made clear that there was no way he was going to pay tribute to a downtown wiseguy. On the other hand... “If the market says kill 'em, we kill 'em. The market says offer more incentives, we offer more incentives. Whatever the pluses and minuses dictate.”

"And who's in charge of them now?" Fisk asked.

"My investigators are looking into that," Felix said. "We will need to make them give up some of their territory for defying us."

"Divide it up locally," Fisk declared, "Give 20% of his holdings to Rosalie Carbone. Another 10% to the Koreans. And 5% each to the Yangshi-Gonshi and Golden Tigers. The rest is kept by the new head of the Izqueda outfit."

"Noted," Felix said.

“Mr. Lincoln,” Fisk pivoted around to focus back on Lincoln, “You used to run with Izqueda's people as a teenager, if I'm correct?”

“Yes, I was," Lincoln said, looking at the tattoo on his palm, "Why do you ask?”

“With Izqueda deceased, we can't risk that their new leader will come at us,” Fisk explained, “I want you to go visit them and make them a new offer."

"How much?"

"Same as the others. 20% cut of each month's profit goes to us as protection. But throw in access to our FBI insiders, our New Jersey holdings, whatever you can think of that will persuade them that war is not the answer."

“There’s no way that the Boriucas are going to take an offer that his boss already refused,” Lincoln pointed out.

“Maybe. But you have history with them. Find out who their boss is, and make them understand why it's important he take the deal,” Felix responded confidently. "It's a longshot, I realize, but you have to at least try."

Lincoln huffed, then looked back and forth between Fisk and Felix. "Alright, I can do it. Just...don't whack me if I don't deliver." Another question came to mind. _Harlem's Luke Cage's turf._ "Speaking of Harlem, shouldn't we also be worried about Luke Cage? I mean, the dude's imposed an impenetrable wall around Harlem. No outfit can do business in it. I bet he already knows your name thanks to Felix here putting it out, and us shooting up Manfredi at that diner.”

“Cage is none of our concern.” Fisk resisted the urge to clench his teeth. True, Luke Cage was a formidable threat. He could easily come through Fisk’s guards without any serious challenge. But Cage had people of his own to manage, up there in Harlem. And even though Fisk and Mariah had had a few mutual acquaintances while she was still alive, they’d never been involved in any partnerships, and it was unlikely an ex-con like Cage would want to fight members of the FBI.  This was unlike Daredevil, who was a much more immediate problem to handle.

“...Sir...” Burbank began hesitantly.

Lincoln took a deep breath. “My point is, Fisk, we got enough problems with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen onto us, after what happened downstairs the other day. We shouldn’t need another _freak_ taking interest in what we do here. I mean," he laughed nervously. "for God's sake, boss, you’ve only been out two days!”

"No one knows yet about that," Felix said, assuredly, "Donovan's...dilemma, that is. The right people in the press have been paid to bury the story.  And no one knows about this room except those of us who are here. But this has to be handled soon, before the Puerto Ricans can bring unwanted heat down on us, and before certain persons of interest find out about what we're up to."

Lincoln squinted his eyes. "Who, precisely?"

"Who exactly are these persons of interest?" Ornstein spoke up.

Fisk exhaled.  _The devil and his reporter / lover._ "Felix?" he asked. He gestured to Felix, who removed files from his briefcase, copies of which he passed out to Burbank, Ornstein and Lincoln. Burbank, bottle of water in one hand, opened the file with his free hand. The top page was a print-out photograph of Matt Murdock and Karen Page outside the Old Homestead Steakhouse, accompanied by Foggy Nelson and Marci Stahl. Burbank’s eyebrows clenched together as he recognized the two. He'd seen them the other day in the hotel bar, probably trying to find a way to get access to his boss.

“These two people are posing problems for all of us here," Fisk said, "And they must be eradicated before we can proceed with plans for expansion of this for this… _organization_ …” He stressed that word for emphasis.

“I'm missing something. Who are these two?” Ornstein asked Fisk, hesitantly. 

“The blind man's name is Matt Murdock,” Felix said, retaking his original position behind Fisk, “He's an attorney. Founded a law firm three years ago with his best friend and Columbia law roommate Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson after a brief internship at Landman & Zack. For the last 14 months he has been working as a solo practitioner, although he's not taken any clients since his disappearance last October amidst the fracas surrounding Midland Circle. ” Per his boss’s wishes, Felix did not mention the truth about Matt Murdock’s other identity. The fewer people who knew, the easier it would be to control the narrative once Poindexter was deployed for his first mission.

"And who's the girl?" Lincoln asked.

So Felix pressed on. “The woman's name is Karen Page. She's a former junkie, from a small town in Vermont. Killed her own brother in a car accident. Bounced around after that for 11ish years and landed a job with us three years ago at Union Allied. We tried to eliminate her when she stumbled onto our creative accounting, twice. Second time was thwarted by our friendly neighborhood Daredevil who also captured our benefactor here." He motioned to Fisk. "Nelson & Murdock hired her as their secretary afterwards and she stayed there until the firm dissolved. Since then she’s been reporting stories at the _New York Bulletin_ _._ If you flip through the files, you'll see she's done some hardhitting pieces on the Punisher and Mariah Dillard, and was targeted by the mad Army bomber back in November. She's tough, but, you know, a girl.” _A girl with some very career-ending secrets._ He cleared his throat. “Now, not in the reports but of relevance to this meeting, Mr. Murdock and Miss Page are believed to have knowledge of how we acquired this hotel, our source of income, as well as how we arranged our employer’s transfer.” 

There were murmurs of incredulity amongst the lieutenants.

“And of course, given our own actions against the two, they want to do everything in their power to put us behind bars. Which provides us a tactical opportunity for us to move aggressively to stifle all further investigations of theirs. In light of yesterday's failed attempt to get rid of Mr. Murdock, we have already implemented phase I, and orchestrated a campaign to harass and blackmail them and Mr. Nelson, who has decided to run for District Attorney to oppose us. Phase II, which will require a lot more overhead, is to further ensure that Mr. Murdock and Miss Page will have their own hands filled.” 

“Which is?” Ornstein asked.  

Felix let his mouth slowly curve into a malevolent smirk. “The Daredevil.” 

Lincoln and Ornstein couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, what?” Lincoln asked. 

“You serious, boss?” Ornstein turned to Fisk. “That dude whooped your ass, and took down the guys we hired for your Kazemi job. And now you want to hire him to take out these jokers?”

“Karen Page would be of little concern if she didn’t have her own access to the devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” Fisk said. He motioned for the other men to flip in their briefings to the page where Donovan described his encounter with her and Daredevil in the hotel parking garage. According to Donovan, Daredevil's body language towards Karen Page and vice-versa was the sort of soft one that came from romantic and/or sexual attraction (Donovan had not gotten a good enough look to recognize Daredevil was Murdock, but he'd seen the way they interacted when they were beating him up, and when told what Fisk suspected, thought about it and actually realized Daredevil's voice was close enough to Murdock's for him to conclude they were one and the same).

“Why are you telling us this?” Lincoln asked. “That whole pyrotechnics thing with Nobu tells me this is something you should be able to handle by yourself.” 

“Yes, we could have,” Fisk admitted. “You’re right. I can handle this by myself, but urgency demanded that I inform you so that you can be prepared. Anything Karen Page and Matt Murdock do casts unwanted attention on the organization when its place is in the shadows.  Wesley always considered such secrecy to be of the utmost priority to ensure smooth operations.” He paused, swallowing a lump forming in his throat at having brought up his best friend.  

“Do you want us to kill them, sir?” Ornstein asked. “Just say the word and my men will have it done within twenty four hours.” 

“They are not going to be left dead,” Fisk shook his head, “Murdock and Page must be left alive for my plan to have maximum effect. And I have already lined up a man for the assignment.” He turned back to Felix. “What’s the status of the…operative?”

“The story has been sent,” Felix nodded, “It will be posted on the  _Bulletin_ website by midnight tonight and will be in tomorrow morning’s paper. Once it’s out, our friends in OPR assure me they will give an order for the operative’s immediate suspension.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Fisk nodded. The planned attack on the _Bulletin_ was not something he could carry out with just Agent Poindexter. Poindexter would need a support staff. Getaway driver. A few gunmen to provide cover for his escape if necessary. "Who is in charge of that?” he asked Felix.

“Me, sir,” Burbank said, borderline enthusiastically, “We’re procuring  vehicles. And the building electrician has been persuaded to kill the power when we give him the signal.”

“What about manpower?” Fisk asked. Poindexter would need a support staff-gunners and a driver-so he could focus on changing out of his armor once the attack was over.

“All under control,” Burbank answered. “All due respect, I can handle all the logistics without your micromanagement.”

“I have no doubts about that, Mr. Burbank,” Fisk replied, hastily.

“In the interest of plausible deniability, I will refrain from telling you the details, to ensure that no one can trace this back to you,” Burbank said.

Felix nodded with approval. “Good. I think we have everything we need from you tonight. Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Ornstein, Mr. Burbank, you are dismissed.”

Burbank, Ornstein and Lincoln nodded. Fisk bowed his head once more respectfully and looked to the men, who got up and walked past him, side-eying his new suit as they left the room.

The room was now occupied solely by Felix and Fisk. Felix had chosen to wait until he and his boss were alone before discussing the matter of Murdock, Page, and Marci Stahl’s encounter with him.

“I didn't want to discuss this in front of the boys, but we have a complication on the Nelson situation,” he said, hesitantly.

"As there seem to be a lot of," Fisk growled. _Matt Murdock or Karen Page might be behind it._ “Have you spoken to him, with my offer to back off?”

Felix scratched the spot on his chin where Karen had punched him at the butcher shop. “Yes, withdrawal from the race in exchange for the FBI suspending their investigation into him, into Murdock, and his brother.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Frankly, I probably would’ve had more success if I hadn’t been so rudely interrupted.”

“Meaning?” Fisk asked.

Felix took a deep breath. “Murdock, Page, and Marci Stahl crashed my little soiree with the Nelson brothers and told me to leave. Miss Page has quite the spunk to her. She gave me an upper cross right here.” He motioned to the spot on his chin where her fist had connected with his skin.

A menacing glimmer appeared in Fisk’s eyes.

“And more importantly, Wilson, Miss Page also visited me at the bank this morning. She tried to ask me a bunch of questions about what I do for you.”

“What did you say to her?” Fisk demanded.

“I made clear that if she didn’t back off, we would publish everything we have on what happened on a certain night in Fagan Corners in 2004,” he answered, “Though it's also possible that I’ve just pissed her off further.” He inhaled. _Stewart Finney is a good employee and even a bit of a friend, but...where my loyalties lie, protecting Wilson and Vanessa will always take priority over that._

Fisk's voice sharpened with a tone of impatience. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

“Stewart Finney has got to go," Felix replied, "I had him handle the dirty loan Nelson's Meats took out with us. And since Murdock and Page know about Red Lion, the creative accounting, and about  _me_ , it's only a matter of time before they find out about him. And as loyal as he may have been to you in the can, I doubt he's going to be able to keep his mouth shut, especially against Murdock's particular brand of questioning people." 

Fisk had been smart enough to hide his influence on the Nelson's Meats financial chicanery, but just barely. If Matt Murdock, Karen Page and Marci Stahl had questioned Theo Nelson right after Felix had left the shop, then Theo had to have told them the name of the loan officer. Fisk could not let Murdock or Page talk to Finney, lest he tell them about the scheming his boss pulled to get Frank Castle into and out of the prison and manipulate the man into eliminating Dutton. If that got out to the press, there was no guarantee that Hattley would be able to protect him.

His frown deepened. Finney was a good man. He’d proven effective, loyal, capable behind bars, providing Fisk with intelligence about all the inner workings of Dutton’s gang and his connections, enabling Fisk to quickly assert control over them once Dutton was removed from power. But now that Finney was out, he was as replaceable as Owlsley had been. There were always more money launderers Felix could hire. If Finney were removed now, before he had the chance to talk to the press, that would partially end the trail.

Though...if they were going to get rid of Finney, he realized, they might want to consider keeping a close eye on the other inmates who could talk about his activities in detail. First were the Valdez brothers. Mostly silent, tall, imposing muscle, and Finney's closest friends. They’d proven very reliable bodyguards for him in prison after he’d secured their loyalty by paying off their mothers’ rent, and arranging their release from jail, but they were also very disposable.  And lastly, there was Jasper Evans. Fisk had taken care to ensure that there was no paper trail connecting Evans to him. But Evans had also received his order directly from Fisk himself, not an intermediary, meaning he posed the same problem as Carl Hoffman in that he could directly implicate the source of the order. Evans being out of prison when he wasn't supposed to might make his death suspicious, but as long as there was nothing that could link him back to Fisk, well...it might be time to sever the ties that could prove he manipulated the FBI.

"Put some people on his place. Have them call me if either of them shows up." Fisk tilted his head thoughtfully. "And make sure that there is more security on that crackhouse where you're holding Jasper. He cannot be allowed to testify either."

"I'll post a few guys there by tomorrow morning," Felix exhaled.

The victory would be his. Murdock and Page would not deny him that. And once that was handled, he and Vanessa would have a brand a new enterprise that was raking in the equivalent of one suitcase of money a day, with very few outside threats.

 _Vanessa._ As part of the negotiating Donovan had done that morning prior to sending Nadeem on his witch hunt, he'd said that Fisk would be entitled to the return of his possessions, the ones that had been taken from him while he was awaiting trial, and the DOJ wouldn't file any charges against Vanessa. And Fisk, right now, was getting a little antsy.

With all of the problems Matt Murdock and Karen Page were causing, it would be nice to have someone always by his side that he could talk things through, rather than have to keep up having off-record talks with Donovan or secret meetings with Felix. That would be something he'd achieve if he had Vanessa right here in New York.  Sure, "Rabbit in a Snowstorm" had a lot of sentimental value to him, but it was just a painting in the grand scheme of things. And who knew, maybe since Vanessa had previously hosted the painting in her gallery, she'd have a better chance at persuading Esther Falb to hand over the painting, better than Fisk's own lawyers were doing on that front at any rate.

During those days between when he first met Nadeem face to face and his transfer to the Hotel, while he was waiting for the Albanians to be taken down so he could give Jasper Evans the order to shank him, Fisk had come to realize that he really, really wanted Vanessa to be there by his side, watching, as his enemies were snuffed out. She had stood by his side while they watched his coordinated explosions obliterate the Russians' stashhouses, admiring it like it were a piece of artwork in her gallery. And hell, he'd proposed to her the last time they saw each other face to face. Sure, it wasn't the best of circumstances, having to do so while the FBI were about to take him into custody and they were to be separated for as long as they were, but fate had other ideas that day, and so he did.

But now his deal with Nadeem had gone through, and Vanessa's safe passage back into the United States was granted. There was no need to worry about her getting apprehended for setting foot on American soil once again. And the Albanians had, to the best of Fisk's knowledge, been handled on the American end. They'd killed five FBI agents trying to take Fisk out in their assault on his motorcade, and now that Fisk was in a penthouse with FBI security guards, they'd never have another chance of getting at him, not unless someone on his own staff slipped information about the secret rooms to them.  The FBI were expected to retaliate with even harder crackdowns on them. Hattley had told Fisk as much when she briefly popped in before the movers came. According to her, an FBI tactical unit would be raiding a group of Albanian stashhouses in northern Brooklyn that evening. They'd also reportedly identified the man who gave the order for the attack from a burner phone dropped by one of the dead gunmen, and were actively looking for him as well. Regardless, the FBI were on it, and Fisk felt comfortable enough to presume that Vanessa wouldn't be attacked while her plane was in the air.

"Anything else you need, tonight, sir?" Felix asked.

Fisk clicked his tongue and nodded. "If you were to get in touch with Francis right this moment, and tell him it's time for Vanessa to come home, how long would it take her to get to New York?"

Felix looked at his watch. "I wouldn't know, sir."

"Can you give me an estimate?" Fisk's voice sharpened with annoyance.

"Roughly about nine hours," Felix answered, after a pause, "Plus a 20 minute or so flight from JFK to the heliport downtown."

Fisk nodded.  _Vanessa can be in New York right before sunrise. And then once she's had a few hours of rest, she can be here actively aiding me._ "Call Francis. Tell him that I want Vanessa back in New York now."

"Don't you want to hold off, sir?" Felix asked.  _I'd personally hold off on Vanessa until the enemies are handled, seeing as some of our prior enemies tried to kill her._ "I mean, for all we know, there are some Albanian stragglers who may go for her since you're no longer touchable. And I'm pretty sure I remember you talking to Lee about some issues obtaining that painting."

"She will handle it," Fisk said, confidently, "I am sure."

Felix sighed. "This could hamper our plans for Agent Poindexter," he pointed out.

"Vanessa will show just as much gratitude to him for saving my life," Fisk countered. "I am sure she would have just as much respect for him as I do."

Felix chose not to counter that. "What about Nadeem?" he asked. "You sure that witch hunt's gonna keep him at bay forever?"

"You and Hattley will work out a plan for when he gets fishy of my allegations against Nelson and Murdock," Fisk replied, coldly, stepping past Felix so he could return back upstairs to check on the progress the movers were making.

As he made his way back up the secret staircase, he could hear Felix taking out his phone to make a call.

_"Francis. It's Felix Manning here...got orders from Fisk. Wants Vanessa back in New York immediately...yeah, I'm serious, he wants her moved tonight...Look, Francis, I know the Albanians might be a problem over there, but they've been handled here on the New York end...get her on the plane, and charter a helicopter to the downtown heliport when you get here..."_

Standing at the top of the stairs, watching the movers put the finishing touches on his penthouse, Fisk couldn't help but smile just a little, knowing that by morning, that he'd be reunited with the love of his life, and soon, their enemies were going to encounter a setback that would hopefully keep them off his back for a while. She'd enjoy the front row seat to that.  _It's like a painting I'm making for her.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--You might recognize the names of Fisk's capos very well. Carl Burbank (Bushwhacker) is repurposed from the comics, as are Willie Lincoln and Ornstein. Since his comics background includes time as an assassin, I decided to retool him as an ex-cop (and more specifically, be the one who shot Detective Blake and killed Officer Sullivan). I imagine Burbank resembling Jason Sudeikis, Ornstein resembles Glenn Fleshler (Orrin Bach from Billions), and Lincoln resembles Steven Michael Quezada (Gomez from Breaking Bad). If you're wondering why Ornstein, Lincoln and Burbank haven't been mentioned up to this point, it's because of Fisk being busy with other matters. But basically, they've been in charge of overseeing Fisk's muscle men and also collect from local gangs in Hell's Kitchen.
> 
> \--I moved up Fisk getting his penthouse furnished and acquiring his white suits by an episode. Reason being that Fisk wants to be presentable to his underlings so they remember that he is in charge.
> 
> \--Making Karen get some action scenes is happening here. I know that it's kind of the point in the actual show that Karen is not Elektra, and not every female hero is a fighter. But I do think Matt would want to teach her many of his combat moves so she can hold her own whenever involved in a fight with armed goons like the ones Fisk uses.


End file.
